


All Heart

by kingsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Godswood Sex, King Jon, Religious Conflict, This has evolved into like a Soap Opera, dany is a telenovella villain, femme fatale sansa stark, for the jonsa historical event but like i messed up it's in canon verse with elements of that whoops, historical au -- anne boleyn/henry the 8th in westeros, jon & dany have a political marriage a la henry and catharine of aragon, this fic is ridiculous but idc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/pseuds/kingsnow
Summary: Littlefinger decides Sansa will be the King's mistress. Sansa decides she'll be his wife.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one is for the jonsa historical event, with the prompt 'a misunderstanding'. But I kinda wrote it as canon-verse inspired by history so it doesn't REALLY count but I support you guys capable of historical aus <3

It was Littlefinger’s idea that Sansa become the king’s mistress.

 

The worst ideas were always his. 

 

Before Jon had even arrived in the Eyrie, Petyr had dressed her up like one of his whores. He’d taken great care to press perfume between her breasts, he’d presented her the silken small clothes she was to wear for the King, he’d whispered in her ear exactly what vile she was to do to Jon when she snuck into his bedroom. 

 

“The guard won’t let me past,” Sansa had protested, when complaints like  _ he’s my brother _ didn’t do the trick. “And his wife won’t like it. I don’t want to be eaten by a dragon. Or burned alive.”

 

“He and his wife are having problems,” Petyr confided, running his lips against her neck. “She can’t have children. There’s no heir, which is the reason they’d married in the first place. A political alliance. She was married to his brother before he died, it’s no love match. She couldn’t let a rival for the throne live without solidifying an alliance. People would rise up in his name, even if he didn’t wish it, you see. But that was her fatal flaw. If there’s no love and no children, what holds a marriage together? And if you could give him a son…”

 

“A bastard, you mean,” Sansa said, suddenly pulling away from him. She had learned to bear almost anything. She had become numb to his hands and mouth, she had done everything asked of her… but to be made into yet another man’s whore? Sansa closed her eyes and shook her head. Nobody knew what Petyr did to her. Despite everything, Sansa still had her maidenhead. She still dreamt of a day where she could run away from all this, where she could find somebody who loved her, somebody who needn’t ever know about what had happened to her. It would be as though it never was, and she would feel whole again.

 

“A royal bastard, and the heir to the throne,” Littlefinger pointed out with a wry smile. 

 

“I’ll be ruined,” Sansa said in a small voice. She’d lived as Alayne Stone long enough to know what it was like to live as a bastard. She didn’t want that for her son. 

 

Littlefinger reached out for her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her close to him. “Silly girl, our opportunities will only increase when you have the King’s favour,” he said.

 

Jon Snow was a stranger to her. He was a hero, a good man, this she knew. They’d conversed happily enough at dinner, reminiscing over their old lives. But he scared her too. He’d smiled when he saw her, but the man Jon had grown into didn’t seem like the green boy she’d known at Winterfell at all. His heart had turned to ice, and his eyes were devoid of life. 

 

Sansa’s own heart had never quite turned to stone.

 

She wasn’t quite sure why she still listened to Littlefinger, or why part of her still trusted the man. The bigger part of her felt sick when he touched her, wanted nothing more than to escape the Vale. But where would she run? The Seven Kingdoms had been set ablaze by the Dragon Queen’s war, and outside of the Eyrie famine was widespread. Petyr had been the only one to care enough about her to save her from the Lannisters. 

 

“He won’t want me,” she said again, her protests softer now. “I’m practically his sister.” Just because she had lost all sense of boundaries, what with calling Petyr  _ father _ for so long and enduring his kisses, didn’t mean everyone had become so perverse. 

 

“He won’t be able to resist your charms,” Petyr insisted, “I know the story. The ward of the castle, watches the pretty daughter from afar, but she was never meant for him… when you flash your blue eyes at him, he will drown in them. Deep down he’s still the bastard of Winterfell.”

 

In the end, she’d listened to him. It was easier that way.

 

For a fortnight they had feasted the king. The Vale was the most bountiful of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord Baelish wanted to show off his wealth. He had hoarded plentiful grain for the winter, selling it at astronomical prices to the remaining population of the realm. But while outside the Vale of Arryn people starved, the King was treated to course after course. After dinner, they would sit in Littlefinger’s solar and as Jon tried to arrange a loan to cover the food he needed, Sansa would play the harp or the bells. Littlefinger had half a dozen new dresses made for her. When she wore them she felt like his creature, and she knew Jon could sense that. Everybody could. For more than a year, she had pretended to be his daughter. 

 

The Eyrie wasn’t built for winter, and in her thin robe Sansa shivered as she walked to the chamber next to her own. 

 

Sansa knocked on Jon’s door, swallowing down apprehension. She heard shuffling inside of his room, and a moment later Jon appeared at the door, his eyes tired. His hair was loose and his thick curls were as wild and mussed as Arya’s. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, after realizing they had stood in silence for too long. “Were —were you sleeping?” It was late after all, the hour of the wolf.

 

“No,” Jon replied, his voice even. 

 

She hadn’t realized how intently he’d been staring at her face until his eyes drifted down. Her silken robe was tied loosely at the waist, and beneath that she wore a red satin corset.  _ The colours of his house _ , Littlefinger had said, but that felt wrong. It was so hard to imagine Jon Snow as a Targaryen. Jon’s eyes only lingered on her breasts for a moment, but she caught his hesitation. Perhaps Littlefinger had been right.

 

“Can I come in?” Sansa asked. 

 

Jon nodded and stepped aside.

 

The Vale was happy to have the King visit them, and they had showed it with the new furnishings and gifts in Jon’s chambers. Sansa’s own gift, a banner she had stitched with the King’s new sigil, was meager compared to Lord Royce’s bowl of oranges from Essos or the illuminated manuscripts Sweet Robin had given him. Her eyes searched the room for the banner, but she couldn’t find it. Her heart sank. He must have hated it. Or maybe he hated her. She wouldn’t blame him, either way, but it hurt all the same.

 

“Are you alright?” Jon asked from behind her.

 

She turned back towards him. He was still standing in the doorway, as far away from her as possible. In the candlelight, his dark eyes were impossible to read. 

 

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

 

“This place…” Jon’s voice trailed off. “You don’t belong here.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“There’s something wrong here.”

 

_ Yes,  _ she thought.

 

“No,” she said.

 

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing. He made his way across the room, putting the candle down on his bedside table. He sat on his unmade bed.

 

“Why have you come then, when everyone’s asleep?” Jon asked, “if not to tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“I just wanted to see you is all,” Sansa said. She fidgeted with her sleeve, feeling uncomfortable. “Without everyone else around.”

 

Despite what Littlefinger had taught her, she was not used to being the aggressor. He was mad to think her a temptress. Lord Baelish was obsessed with her, but she was not irresistibly beautiful. Sansa had heard what  was said about Jon’s wife. She was meant to be the most beautiful woman in the world, with long silver hair and shining amethyst eyes. In the songs she was as fierce as she was beautiful, riding on her dragon and saving the world. Sansa knew she was beautiful, but she was so ordinary, how could she ever compare to the Dragon Queen? 

 

Sansa pushed the fear from her mind and approached him. She had rehearsed this with Petyr. Sansa took Jon’s face in her hand and looked him in the eye. Jon’s brow creased, but he didn’t look away. He let her lean down and press her lips to his, and he closed his eyes when she slipped her tongue against his. He breathed her in, his lips moving tenderly against hers. 

 

It did not take long for Jon to take her waist in his hands and pull her into his lap. He was hungry for this, and Sansa let him take control. She didn’t mind being consumed. It was more comfortable that way. When a man desired her she felt safer, because she knew what he wanted. But this was different, she  _ wanted _ to please him. Sansa untied her robe, letting it fall to the floor. He could take her now, and a dozen more times before he left the Eyrie, and with any luck she’d be carrying his child by then. The thought had scandalized her before the King arrived in the Vale, but now it made her wrap her legs more tightly around him.

 

Jon’s lips brushed against Sansa’s jaw. Sansa took his hands in hers and brought them to the laces of her corset. He pulled them loose, and her corset fell down between them. 

 

But just as quickly as it had begun, Jon pulled away. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked. 

 

She was sitting naked in his lap, but he wouldn’t look at her. 

 

“Did he send you?” Jon asked.

 

“Who?” Sansa’s voice was smooth. Too smooth, probably. She had gotten too good at lying. 

 

“Lord Baelish.”

 

“No,” Sansa forced a breezy laugh. “No… I just felt something. Between the two of us, this past week. Haven’t you?” Her voice quivered at the end, which she hadn’t been rehearsed. 

 

Jon caught her eye and Sansa knew then that he had. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she was intrigued nonetheless. She caught his lips in hers again, nibbling on it. His body had gone slack against hers, and Sansa realized that in that moment Jon Snow would do anything she wanted him to. That made her feel brave. She was so used to doing only what men wanted her to do, to being a pawn and a plaything, something to hurt. 

 

Jon took one of her breasts in hand and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. It already hard from being exposed to the frigid air and she ached under Jon’s touch. Without thinking, her hips rocked into his. 

 

It would be easy to give herself to him. Her body wanted it, and she’d come here planning on giving him her maidenhead. She could give him a son, an heir, she could win his favour. But it felt suddenly too honest. She truly wanted him, and that was dangerous. 

 

_ He has a wife _ , Sansa remembered.  _ He’ll have me now, but he’ll never belong to me _ . And Sansa knew enough of men to know that if she gave herself to him, she would be no more loved than the woman he’d tossed aside, even if she did give him a bastard. Men wanted what they could not have. Littlefinger only loved her because she reminded him of the woman who had spurned him. She was a younger, more pliant version of her mother. And Jon? Well, Jon hardly knew her. He certainly didn’t love her. 

 

Sansa pulled herself away from Jon and stood up. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. This time she was the one to avert eye contact. 

 

“Why?” Jon asked. His voice was so tender she was afraid to look at him, lest she see something on his face that looked like love. She’d never been able to resist the false promise of being loved. 

 

“It was foolish of me to come. Stupid.” Sansa was good at disparaging herself for someone else’s benefit. She leaned down and grabbed her robe, pulling it back over her shoulders. 

 

“No,” Jon said, her voice soft. He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. 

 

“Forgive me,” Sansa said. 

 

She looked at him for a moment, staring into his inquiring eyes. She wanted to stay, but she turned and left. Sansa only realized she’d forgotten her corset when she was in the hall. Jon’s guard was back now, but the knight in the white cloak pretended not to notice her leaving the King’s room well past midnight practically naked. 

 

Sansa’s heart fell when she found Littlefinger waiting for her in her chambers. He’d probably been listening all along, or watching through some hole in the wall. She felt sick. He was forever lurking in the shadows, making the Eyrie claustrophobic. Sansa hated him, but he’d saved her life… and despite everything, she knew what he wanted. She knew how to move him. Normally that was enough, but she couldn’t stomach him tonight.

 

“Get out,” Sansa hissed.

 

“Sweet Girl… he didn’t want you?” Littlefinger asked, mystified.

 

“Get out,” she repeated. 

 

“You put the idea in his mind,” Littlefinger said, as though he was consoling her. As though this had been her grand plan all along. “It’s all he’ll think about now. He’ll come to you, watch.”

 

Sansa felt more nerve than she had in a long time. She straightened her back and set her jaw. “I won’t be your whore, or his.” 

 

“Sansa —”

 

“It’s late, Lord Baelish. I’m tired. Leave me.” When Petyr gave no indication he was going to leave, Sansa softened. “Please,” she said, her voice desperate. 

 

Petyr nodded, and left. She’d hurt him, but his tears meant nothing to her.


	2. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for the love you guys have shown this fic <3

Jon woke before dawn, as was his nature, but he laid in bed until daybreak. His bones ached more than they should for someone as young as he was. He was an old man at twenty. He stared at the ceiling and thought about everything that had occurred over the last fortnight… and then, everything that had occurred over his entire lifetime. He wasn’t immune to Sansa’s charms, but he had never expected her to present herself to him like that. The only reason Jon was certain that what transpired the previous night wasn’t a dream was that he rarely slept anymore, and when he did he only ever had nightmares. Death had taken its toll. 

 

Sansa was already seated at breakfast when he came to the table. She was taking dainty bites out of a lemoncake. Across from her sat Lord Baelish, whose constant presence made Jon uneasy. As did the lavishness of the meal. At the wall, he had eaten oats for breakfast every morning. In king’s landing, he and Daenerys had vowed not to live in excess while their people starved. The table was covered in blue silk, embroidered with the falcon that was the symbol of House Arryn. On it were dishes of poached eggs in butter, lemoncakes and buttered bread, fresh berries and fruits imported from the Summer Isles, and bowls of cream.

 

The young Lord Robin Arryn had a dash of cream on his nose, but he did not seem to notice or care. He was sitting beside Sansa, happily eating a lemoncake.

 

“Your Grace,” Lord Baelish greeted him, bowing his head. But Jon was not fooled by this display of deference. This man rattled him. He had been keeping his sister as a pet. 

 

Jon had written to the Lord Protector of the Eyrie half a dozen times, requesting his sister’s presence at court. But Lord Baelish insisted on holding onto her, clearly aware that he held a precious bargaining chip. Neither Littlefinger, the Lord of Harrenhall and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and his ward Robyn Arryn, nor Sansa, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North had come to King’s Landing to kneel to Jon and Daenerys. Littlefinger had sent Lord Royce north with the Knights of the Vale in Sansa’s name when Jon had written to him, but his sister remained firmly at Littlefinger’s side. The Vale was technically sworn to the crown, but their lack of deference enraged Jon’s wife, who was eager to fly there as Aegon the Conquerer once had. But of course, she could not do that while Sansa Stark remained there.

 

“Lord Baelish,” Jon said, nodding in his direction. He took care not to show his disdain for the man, keeping his face as hard as Ned Stark had.

Everyone thought that Jon’s trip to the Eyrie had been to arrange an alliance with Lord Baelish, to reduce the cost of food and ensure it’s steady shipment to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. In truth, he could have sent an emissary or one of his loyal vassals to do that. Varys had volunteered to go, with a devious smile. Jon might’ve sent Sam, the Lord of Horn Hill and Jon’s most trusted friend, or Princess Arianne, who was always eager to help him and was eager to warm Jon’s bed. But Jon refused them all. It was time he saw his sister, after all. 

 

Sansa looked up at him with a warm smile on her face, but she did not meet his eyes. “Your Grace,” she said, echoing Littlefinger. Not for the first time, Jon wondered what had happened to his sister here. She had been lying to him since he arrived. On Jon’s first night in the Vale, he had apologized for taking so long to come and see her. He had expected her to be cold towards him, but Sansa had just smiled sweetly and told him that it was alright. He’d been trying to get her alone for a fortnight, so the two of them could talk without prying ears listening in. But Sansa was a slippery fish, and he hadn’t gotten his chance until she’d shown up in his room the night before, and that… well, it hadn’t been what he was expecting.

 

“Your Grace,” Robin said, after Sansa had nudged him. The young Lord of the Eyrie did not like Jon, as he was possessive of Sansa, whom he seemed to love above all others. “You’re supposed to sit beside me.” Beside Robin, at the head of the table,  was an empty chair, clearly reserved for him. Jon took his seat.

 

Usually his vassals waited for him to begin to eat, and Jon was not so obtuse that he didn’t realize what their failure to do so meant. This entire trip had been a show of Littlefinger’s power. But Jon didn’t care. Let Littlefinger have his little kingdom in the mountains, Jon just wanted his sister. 

 

“Did you have a pleasant night?” Lord Baelish asked as Jon reached for an orange.  Jon hand hesitated only for a moment, but Lord Baelish allowed that pause play out as long as it could. “I mean, did you sleep well?”

 

“Well enough.”

 

“Are there any comforts that you’re lacking? Anything that I can provide for you?”

 

It was then that Jon knew that Sansa had been lying. For that, he did not blame her. He doubted it had been her scheme, that she’d ever think of taking him as a lover on her own. It seemed ridiculous that he’d ever believed her in the first place. He ground warm bread between his teeth and swallowed it down, unable to taste it. 

 

“I’ve taken more than enough gifts from you, Lord Baelish.” He wanted to look beside him, towards Sansa, but he kept his gaze fixated on the whoremonger. He wanted to murder the man, and he made no effort to disguise his vitriol. “In fact, I think that I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough.”

 

“You’re leaving?” Robin said beside him, unabashed glee in his voice. 

 

“Yes,” Jon replied, still not turning away from Littlefinger.

 

“So soon?” Sansa asked, surprised.

 

“I don’t wish to deplete your larders before winter is over. The rest of the country will need them. If you’re to carry out your end of the bargain.”

 

“A man of business is only as good as his word.”

 

Jon raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the appeal to honour, but he had no reason to doubt that Littlefinger would carry out his end of the deal. Not with Sansa safely in his court and dragons flying over the Eyrie. He would rain down fire and blood. 

 

Jon turned to Ser Gerold Dayne, the Darkstar, the knight of the kingsguard who was attending them, “we’ll leave on the morrow, at first light. Take Sansa to her room and pack her things. She’ll be coming with us to court.”

 

“We’re going to court?” Robin asked, pulling on the sleeve of Sansa’s dress, his annoyance plain for any of them to see. “I don’t want to.”

 

“You’ll be staying here in the Eyrie with the Lord Protector, making sure the grain shipments arrive in White Harbour safely.”

 

“Your sister is quite comfortable here —”

 

Jon relished the sudden panic in the man’s voice, but he cut him off before he had a chance to persuade Sansa of anything. “I thank you for taking such good care of her, Lord Baelish. But the war is over and I no longer need any help taking care of my sister.” He turned to Sansa, “go with him.”

 

Sansa responded well to orders, and did as she was told, the Darkstar following her out of the room.

 

Then, Jon smiled at Littlefinger. He picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and leisurely chewed on it. Littlefinger could not leave without his dismissal, and he drew the meal out as long as possible with smug satisfaction. 

 

When he finished, he went to Sansa’s chambers. They were next to his, which seemed awfully suspect now that he knew his sister was meant to be used as a sexual pawn against him.

 

“He sent you last night.”

 

Sansa said nothing. She was protecting him, the man who used her like one of his whores. Jon wondered, not for the first time, if Sansa was sleeping with him. How many times had Littlefinger violated her? The thought of his hands on her enraged him, but not as much as the way he’d trained her to do his bidding. 

 

“Why was he willing to part with your company for a night?”

 

“He wanted you to take me as a mistress.”

 

“ _ Why?” _

 

Sansa gave no answer, and instead turned her back on him. She began to walk away. She almost reached the door, but Jon grabbed Sansa’s wrist to stop her from leaving. When she did not turn around, he pulled her close to him.  She looked down at his hand for a moment before she looked up at him. She raised her chin in defiance. She was all airs now, not prone to the temper tantrums she had when she was a little girl. She played the harp and said her courtesies and took off her clothes for the King, but underneath she had grown almost as hard as he had. 

 

“Why did you leave?”

 

“I told you last night,” Sansa said.

 

Jon shook his head. “Why didn’t you listen to him?”

 

“I told you! I was making a fool of myself. You’re a married man.”

 

“I was married when you came to my door.”

 

“I’m sure your Queen misses you,” Sansa said. 

 

Jon released his grasp on Sansa. “What does that mean?”

 

Jon was certain Daenerys did not miss him. He had not wanted their marriage to turn cold, but it had, and Daenerys now took her comforts in somebody else’s bed. Many said Daenerys was the true King of the realm, and Jon merely the commander of the new Royal Army. The same people said that Margaery Tyrell was her queen. Margaery had been their hostage, held for the Tyrells’ good behaviour and continued support in the Reach. Daenerys could not let her go. At first because the former Queen was likely to become a symbol of any rebellion. And then because Margaery had utterly bewitched her. In truth, it was Jon who had been responsible for much of the peace negotiations, though he took no joy out of sitting on the iron throne or being bowed and scraped to. The crown rested uneasily on his head. So uneasily that he rarely wore one. 

 

“I’m not made to be any man’s mistress. Not even yours,” Sansa said.

 

The way Sansa had looked when she was at his door, red satin against her alabaster skin, the black silk of her robe falling to the floor… the way she had looked when she was on top of him… long red hair running down her back, her breasts heavy in his hands, her tongue against his… she was wrong, the Gods had made her to be adored. He could show her that. He could teach her that it didn’t have to be the way it was between her and Littlefinger. He could fuck her properly. He could… he could, but he never would. 

 

“No,” Jon said, even though he wanted to rip the gown off of her and take her right there, with the door open. It wouldn’t even matter if anyone walked by, let them see that Sansa no longer belonged to their whoremonger Lord Protector. “You don’t have to do that anymore. You’ll have my protection at court.”

 

“Protection?” Sansa echoed, with the ghost of a smile on her face. As though it was funny. 

 

“I won’t let him touch you again.”

 

Sansa tilted her head to the side. Her face had softened, and she looked at him for what seemed like forever, searching his face for something. He hoped whatever she wanted to find in him she had, for he so desperately wanted to please her. He could feel his heart beat in his chest. She reached out and took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb against the back of her hand. Now it was his turn to look down at their interlocked fingers. “Thank you,” she said when he looked back up. Her gratitude was as soothing as milk of the poppy, and Jon wondered what else he would do to merit it. 


	3. Sansa

Sansa stood in the godswood, her eyes closed in meditation. This was where she found peace now. The snow had all melted, and the ground had begun to thaw. The trees were still without leaves, and their skeletal silhouettes were eery in the fading light. Still, it had become her habit to come here and say her prayers if she could manage them, and have a moment’s respite if not. 

 

Behind her, she heard footsteps along the stone path. She turned, expecting for some reason to see Jon. But it was Petyr who came to her, standing too close than was proper. 

 

“This will not be the last time we see each other, my love,” Petyr said, as though he was consoling her. 

 

Sansa did not doubt that, nor did she fear him anymore. She wasn’t sure if she had become brave, or if the past years had made her numb. She expected terrible things to happen to her now. She smiled softly at Littlefinger, as though seeing him again was something that would give her great joy. “I’m sure, Lord Baelish.”

 

“I hadn’t expected to be parted from you so soon,” he said, and Sansa could see the slightest hint of desperation in his eye. He would miss her, of that she could be sure. 

 

“Or I you,” Sansa spoke truthfully. She had never expected to be free of the man. Even now she knew there was no escape from him. He had left his mark on Sansa, for better or for worse. Lord Baelish had fed her on lies and promises. He had saved her and he had destroyed her in equal measure. “You spoke out of turn at breakfast.”

 

“Did I?” Littlefinger asked, amused. The silver mockingbird clasp that held his cloak together gleamed in the fading sunlight. Lord Baelish smirked, as if to let Sansa know there were still endless secrets she did not know, hidden machinations she would never be privy to. She was better not knowing. Sansa said nothing. She turned her head in the direction of the setting sun. The sky was red and purple and black. In the morning, when the sun rose again, Sansa would leave this place forever. She wouldn’t miss it, but she’d never forget either.

 

Sansa felt Petyr’s hand cup her face and bring her closer to him. Her body went slack as it always did when Petyr touched her, and she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t feel any of it, it wouldn’t be happening to her, it had all been just a bad dream…

 

“He wants you, and he knows he can have you. Our King is bored, Sansa. For years he played at being a hero, and now he rules over a realm he never wanted. A valiant knight needs a damsel in distress, somebody he can save. He wants to feel like a hero again. Ad who better than you to play the beautiful maiden?” With that, Petyr’s lips brushed hers. His mouth was poison, as though she could taste all of the lies he’d ever told her on his tongue. Jon’s kisses had been so very different, his mouth had been hot and sweet.

 

Sansa’s nerve built back up again, and she pushed Petyr away with one hand. She was soft, even as she rejected him, but Littlefinger released his grasp on her. 

 

Sansa wondered if Petyr saw himself as a hero, as her white knight, or if he saw himself as the villain in the story. Sometimes Sansa herself couldn’t be sure what he was. She thought of Florian and Jonquil, what had once been her favourite song. She ad Jon had danced to it at the Welcome feast, a fortnight ago now. If Jon ever came to love her, would he be a fool?

 

“I have a long journey tomorrow, Lord Baelish. I must rest.” With that, Sansa left. 

 

That night she barred the door on her chamber. She did not fear Petyr would visit her, nor did she think Jon was like to go mad with lust and force himself upon her, but she felt uneasy anyway. She tossed and turned for hours before she finally fell asleep. That night she dreamt she was at court. King’s Landing was as beautiful as she’d imagined it to be when she was a little girl, not the cesspool she knew it to be. She sat beside Jon, their fingers interwoven, looking down upon the smallfolk as they feasted. 

 

Sansa was permitted to bring her ladies with her to court, she was allotted a household befitting her status as the King’s sister and the wardeness of the North. But there was nobody from the Eyrie Sansa wished to have with her. They would all be Littlefinger’s spies, she was sure, even those she trusted the most. Myranda, her dearest friend, was betrothed to the man. All these years, Littlefinger had seemed to always have eyes upon her, and such a task would be impossible unless everyone who surrounded her, even those dear friends, were in Petyr’s service. 

 

So Sansa let Jon’s household knights prepare her things and carry them down the mountain. She rebuffed the offer of everyone of the servants Littlefinger offered her, even the singer he had brought in for her after Marillian’s death. Jon had smiled at that, a smile so fleeting she almost missed it. Together, they descended the mountain. Sansa had become a master of the mountain, but she took Jon’s hand when he offered it anyway. Perhaps Petyr was right and Jon did want to be her hero. Sansa thought she would like that. With Jon, well, it was different. She wouldn’t mind playing the innocent maiden or the wanton seductress, or anything he wanted from her. 

 

On the ground, there was a wheelhouse waiting for Sansa. A sweet gesture, for sure, but not one she would abide by.

 

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Sansa asked, her feigned hurt heavy in her voice.

 

“Of course not, My Lady,” Jon said as his knights looked on. “But it’s a long journey to the port at Gulltown, and I don’t remember you as much of a horsewoman.”

 

“You’re right. I’m not much of a rider,” Sansa admitted. “But I thought I’d enjoy my first day of freedom. Would you mind if I rode with you? I could use the fresh air.”

 

“With me?” Jon asked. She had shaken at him. “On my horse, with me, you mean?”

 

Sansa nodded, the picture of innocence. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind. I’d hate to be a burden.”

 

“No, no,” Jon said. “Of course you’re not a burden.”

 

Sansa smiled. She walked over to him and gingerly kissed him on the cheek. “Would you prefer holding me from behind, or me holding onto you while you took the lead?”

 

Jon swallowed. “Whichever you prefer.”

 

“I think I’d like to be in charge this time,” Sansa said, grabbing the reins from his hands. She hoisted herself onto his black stallion, sitting side saddle as a any proper lady would. She smiled at Jon invitingly and he got onto the horse behind her.

 

“On second thought, I don’t know if I trust you with those, My Lady,” Jon said when his arms were wrapped around her. One hand was on her hip, and the other on top of hers. As he pried the reins from her grip, Sansa could feel his breath hot against her neck.

 

In truth, Sansa did not mind him taking charge. This was as close as they’d been since she was in his bed, and she could feel herself heating up as she had that ight. “You’ll have to trust me again eventually, Your Grace.”

 

“It’s only your horsemanship I have doubts in. You’ve been through enough without being charged with regicide for me breaking my neck when you run me off the road.” His voice was amiable, but Sansa knew he was lying. 

 

Sansa merely laughed. It was a true laugh, so honest it surprised her. Jon Snow was not meant to be a funny man, but Sansa supposed he had his charms. Lord Baelish had told her Jon would want to play at being the hero, but as Sansa saw it now, he didn’t need to play at it at all. He was something out of a song, something impossible come back to life. She felt safer than she had since she was a girl when the galloped down the road, his arms wrapped tightly around her. For a few minutes, everything was like a dream. But then, Sansa remembered Daenerys, and how little thought Jon had given her.  _ He would have taken me for a mistress, _ Sasa thought. That was evident from the morning before, when he’d asked her why she hadn’t gone through with it. At the end of the day, Jon was a man with same base desires as any other. But Sansa wasn’t immune to desire either. The air was chilly but Jon’s closeness kept her warm.

 

For a long time, they did not speak. Finally, Sansa said, “won’t you tell me of court? What I’ll be walking into?”

 

“I’m sure little has changed,” Jon said. He was a man of few words, one of the few things Sansa found frustrating about him. It was so hard to know where she stood.

 

“Am I to have a position there?”

 

“The King’s sister, I suppose.”

 

_ Targaryen kings are meant to marry their sisters _ , Sansa thought.  _ Not their aunts _ .

 

“Have you become such a Targaryen that you can call me that after what we’ve done?” Sansa asked, keeping her voice light.

 

At that, Jon said nothing. She could feel his body tense against her at the mention of what had transpired in his bedroom. “What am I supposed to call you then, My Lady.”

 

“My Lady does have a nice ring to it,” Sansa admitted, smiling deviously. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? From the time he’d told Petyr that he would be taking Sansa with him. The thought of being Jon’s lady wife had been annoyingly hard to put out of her mind. She had road South once to be a Queen, and she had given all of that up… it was alarming how easy it was to imagine herself wedding this King. “But I think I ought to have an official position, don’t you?”

 

“You’re too highborn to be one of Daenerys’ ladies.”

 

The thought of playing handmaiden to Jon’s legally wedded wife nauseated her. What was she to do, braid Daenerys’ hair? “As wardeness of the North and Lady of Winterfell, I ought to have a place on the small council,” Sansa said. The small council had more than one woman on it now, and she deserved a place among them.

 

“And what position do you fancy?” Jon asked, amusement in his voice. “Master of whispers? Or… would you like Lord Baelish’s old position, Master of Coin?”

 

“You should create a position for me. To ensure the security of food in the realm.”

 

“I’ve been managing well enough on my own,” Jon said, his voice suddenly cold. “Is this another one of Littlefinger’s schemes?”

 

“No,” Sansa said, surprised at the accusation. “He would -- he would never care about that.”

 

“No, Littlefinger cares about little more than making profits, no matter whether it’s on the backs of smallfolk. And why should I think you’re any different. He trained you, after all.”

 

That stung. People had long treated her as Petyr’s creature, but she hadn’t chosen to be a pawn in other people’s games! “I lived as a bastard for years, Jon, as you did. I know as much as you do about --”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

Sansa ground her teeth. All her warm thoughts about Jon evaporated in that moment. “I was ripped from my horse during a bread riot, Jon. I was twelve years old. Men carried me off --”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, his voice suddenly softer, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine. But I can’t have Littlefinger’s eyes on my small council.”

 

“So you don’t trust me,” Sansa said, with a sigh.

 

“I want to.”

 

“And I want to trust you too, but this isn’t the first time a man has carried me off claiming to have honourable intentions.” The accusation wasn’t fair, Sansa knew that. But she trusted Jon enough to tell him how she felt, no matter how chaotic that was. For so long she had held everything inside and the release was cathartic. 

 

“My intentions for you are as honourable as they can be, under the circumstances,” Jon said. “It’s yours I doubt.”

 

“You shouldn’t, Your Grace. I am your loyal servant.”


	4. Jon

In Gulltown, Jon was greeted with as much fanfare as he had been when he docked there a month before. Jon had chosen this time to be feasted not by the local lord, but by a prominent merchant. They were pleased to receive their King’s patronage. They were more pleased still when Jon had asked to dance with the lady of his house, and publicly thanked them for their contribution in the Great War that had passed. Jon couldn’t help but feel out of place at the dais the merchant had put together in his modet hall, even with Sansa beside him. He still did not feel like a King, but Sansa was the image of what a queen ought to be. 

 

“What was their service in the Great War?” Sansa asked, puzzled. “Was one of their sons a Knight of the Vale?”

 

“No,” Jon admitted. He smiled softly. Sansa might not know it, but Jon was pleased that Sansa was innocent of the knowledge of what had befallen the kingdom. She had already endured so much, and what had he been fighting for if not the protection of those he loved? “They sent twenty good men, though. Commoners, but they gave their lives to the cause all the same.”

 

To his surprise, Sansa smiled. “You ought to raise them to one of the vacant Northern lordships. If they’re truly such good vassals of House Stark.”

 

“The wealth of Winterfell is not mine to bestow, My Lady,” Jon said. 

 

In truth, there was little wealth left of Winterfell. The castle had been broken by ice and fire. There was a reason Littlefinger had not called on Winterfell with it’s Lady… if there had been anything to take, Jon had no doubt that the man would have taken them. But the North was barren now, most of it’s residents had perished or else taken refuge in the South to wait till spring came. When they got there, there would be few lords awaiting them. Jon planned on leading a mission North. He had always planned on returning, but he had been stuck in the South seeing to his people’s needs. 

 

Beside him, Sansa stood. Even at seventeen, the girl had a commanding presence.  _ She’s so young _ , Jon thought, before remembering that he had been the same age when elected to lead the Night’s Watch. The merriment in the meagre hall died and the crowd turned to face Sansa.

 

“My dear cousin has told me of your bravery during the war. I was lucky to be shielded here, in the Vale, by your kindness and the bounty of your harvests. I want to thank you,” she said. The crowds cheered, and Sansa smiled brightly. But she was not done. When they had calmed down once more, Sansa spoke again, “I am the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. I have little to give, it is true. There are few in the North. But your sons and fathers died to protect it, and to protect us all. I know it is the Vale’s grain that kept my people alive as long as could be helped. I would like to bestow the title of Lord of the Dreadfort to my gracious host, Tom Stone. And I would like to give land to any mother or wife or child who lost somebody they loved fighting to protect me. The North is a rich land, and when it is rebuilt it has the wealth to make an earnest living for a man who works hard.”

 

The crowd cheered again, and beside Sansa the merchant Tom Stone was speechless. Jon couldn’t help but smile as he drank his mead. Sansa needed peasants to till the fields and vassals to pledge their allegiance to her, that much was true, and who better to populate her devastated kingdom than a man on the rise who had already proven his honour? The man was a bastard, though, and of uncertain origins. It was doubtless that many knights would feel slighted by giving such lands to a man without a name. But Jon knew from his time in the Night’s Watch that a title did not make a man good or true or more brave than any other. He wondered how his dreamy sister had come to learn that lesson.

 

“My Lady, I do not deserve the honour!” Tom Stone said. 

 

“Do you promise to be true to me, and to serve House Stark as loyally as you have in the past?”

 

“I do,” he said, nodding humbly, his eyes still wide in disbelief. 

 

“Then kneel before me and rise Lord of the Dreadfort,” Sansa told him. 

 

He did, to even more raucous applause than before. The man was well dressed, as was his family, but if Jon had to guess he would say that they had worn their best clothes to greet the King and the Wardeness of the North. Beside him, Sansa kept a cool face but beneath it he could see was triumphant. With her gleaming red hair and bright blue eyes, she looked the image of her mother. Jon had no great love for Lady Catelyn, but she had been a good mother to her trueborn children and respected in her turns as Lady of Winterfell and the King in the North’s mother. She had been everything Jon wanted when he was a boy. He had seen the way she doted on Robb, and he’d wanted a mother so very badly. But she had always been out of his grasp, and her icy face became the thing he feared most in his days at Winterfell. He had since grown into a man, and faced more fearsome foes than Lady Catelyn. It only seemed fitting that she was beyond his grasp once again, reborn in a daughter who had kissed him sweetly onto to tell him she wouldn’t lower himself to his base desires. And fitting too, that Jon wanted that more than he could recall wanting anything in a long while. 

 

When the crowd had calmed once more, the new Lord of the Dreadfort’s wife smiled beside him. “Your foster sister is very kind, Your Grace,” she said to him. 

 

Jon did not doubt that there was goodness in Sansa, but he suspected there was shrewdness as well. She had been stolen by Littlefinger and carried away to his mountain lair and well versed in the game of thrones. She had lost an entire family. There was no way the picture the small folk saw of her now was true, even the sweetest girl would come out worse for wear. 

 

“She is,” Jon agreed. 

 

“You’ll need to give your new house a name,” Sansa told the newly made lord, “and a sigil too.”

 

The festivities went on, though Jon was no longer the centre of the room’s attention. That honour belonged to Sansa, who seemed to revel in it. Occasionally she’d steal a glance at him, always looking away when he caught her eye, but for the most part she focused on the smallfolk who eagerly approached the makeshift dais to talk to her. Jon was glad for the respite. He went to bed early that night, leaving when Sansa was still in the hall. 

 

They had been travelling for nearly a week before they reached the sea. Each night a local lord had put them up, and each night they had wanted to show him the best hospitality they could manage. It was exhausting to keep a smile on his face, though Sansa didn’t seem to think the one he managed counted. “It’s more of a grimace,” she’d said one morning when he tried to explain that he wasn’t angry. But Sansa was somehow even more exhausting than being courteous to strangers. It was as though she was being purposefully difficult, fluttering her eyelashes and always touching him. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d assume she was flirting with him. But any tension between the two of them was imagined, his own invention to justify the lusty thoughts that plagued him as he held her on horseback, so he wouldn’t feel quite so perverted when he took himself in hand to finally seek release. 

 

He did that now, burrowing under the thick woolen blankets of the bed he’d been offered. He closed his eyes and she came to him again. This time he imagined ripping that red satin corset down the centre, her breasts falling free…

 

The door opened and Jon was pulled from his trance, though under the blankets he was still hard and wanting. 

 

The room was dark, but Sansa held a candle. It illuminated her face and cast shadows around the room. She closed the door behind her. It felt like déjà-vu, but Sansa was the one who was fully dressed this time. Her cheeks were flushed red from the wine they’d been drinking, and there was a serene smile on her face. Jon had learned that Sansa could not handle her wine over the past month, becoming drunk with only a cup or two. 

 

“Are you lost?” Jon asked.

 

“I don’t think so,” she said, “though I did wonder if I’d be walking into Lord Stone’s room… shouldn’t the king have a guard?”

 

“I don’t think it’s truly necessary here. I’ve got longclaw, and there are no enemies here.”

 

“Oh, Jon. Don’t you know there are enemies everywhere?” Sansa sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the candle down on the nightstand. 

 

“So that’s why you’ve come? To kill me?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. Her presence did nothing to cool him down. If anything, he was more desperate to take himself in hand now. She could watch, if she wished. With the way she was looking at him, maybe she’d like that…

 

“No. Not yet anyway. I just… wanted to talk. I’m not ready to fall asleep.”

 

“You must be tired from the day’s ride.”

 

“Yes,” Sansa said, nodding her head, “I am. I’m very tired. But I’m restless. It’s been agony to fall asleep lately.”

 

Jon pushed himself up, leaning back on the headboard of the bed. “Are you worried about something?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is it something I can help with?” Jon asked.

 

At that, Sansa paused. She opened her mouth as though she was to speak, but then thought better of it. “No, that’s the problem. I’m afraid to meet Queen Daenerys. Your wife.”

 

“You needn’t worry. The stories of her burning people alive are greatly exaggerated. You’re not our enemy, but our greatest ally. She’s eager to meet you.” Daenerys was indeed eager to meet Sansa. His wife had always wanted a family, and instead she’d gotten a nephew-husband and a brother who’d terrorized her. Daenerys had hoped that Jon’s other family would be alive somewhere too, and that they’d come to love her. And when none of the others had appeared, Daenerys had asked more and more of Sansa.

 

“She’ll be able to tell, though. I’m afraid she’ll see right through me. I’m afraid everyone has,” Sansa inhaled deeply, and placed a hand on his chest. For a moment he thought it was to steady herself, but then Sansa caught his eye. “And if the Queen sees that I’m in love with you, surely she’ll send me away. And what would I do, if I could not see you everyday?”

 

“Sansa—”

 

“I would surely lose my mind!”

 

Jon felt like he had lost his. There were no words he could say to this, nothing came to him except the desire to hold her close. He leaned forward and kissed her, running his fingers through her hair and holding her to him.  _ Love, _ the word echoed through his mind. It had been years since anyone had told Jon they loved him, and Jon could barely remember Ygritte anymore. 

 

Sansa pulled away slowly, both of her hands now resting on his chest. She looked him in the eye, and Jon thought he might drown in her blue eyes. “Or maybe I’ll lose my mind anyway, from wanting something I can’t have.” Sansa looked away sadly. 

 

“You can have me if you wish. Here and now, or at court —”

 

“Oh, how I wish I could. But I decided a long time ago I would give my maidenhead to my husband, to a man who loved me… and try as I might, and no matter how much I want you, I can’t give up my virtue. So you must see… how impossible this all is.”

 

Jon furrowed his brow. All this time, he’d never imagined she could still be a maid. It was a relief to know that Littlefinger had not been raping his sister, though it did little to soften his opinion of the man. “I see,” Jon said. He did not know how to feel about any of this let alone what to say. He was not accustomed to women or their ways, and certainly not a woman like Sansa. 

 

Sansa stole another kiss before leaving, shutting the door softly behind herself.

 

_ Love _ was all he thought when he peaked moments later. He closed his eyes and dreamt of love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the update! I’m taking a breif break from this fic because one of my fave people has been treated pretty roughly by this fandom, so I’m going to add a few chapters to my fic ‘hold me, break me’ (now a one-shot) for her. But I’ll be back to this one soon enough!


	5. Sansa

That morning Sansa woke with a headache. The maid Jon had hired on for her a week ago came soon after, with an orange and and cucumbers in water. Jon didn’t like how lavishly they were fed in the Vale, but Sansa had grown used to the excesses Petyr plied her with. 

 

“This will make you feel better,” her maid told her, urging her to eat her orange. 

 

Prya must have seen how much she’d drank last night. It was starting to become a habit. This was the third time she’d woken hungover over the past fortnight she and Jon had spent crossing the Vale. It had just been so easy to get caught up in the festivities. Everyone was so very happy to see their hero king. Sansa hadn’t been treated thus since before her father had been named a traitor and beheaded in front of the Sept of Baelor. Alayne Stone was just a bastard girl, even if she was Petyr Baelish’s bastard, and Sansa Stark had been a traitor’s daughter, stripped and beaten and forced to marry a Lannister. Everything was so different now. This trip had been one long celebration, with the lords whose rooves they slept under each night currying for favour, presenting them with lavish gifts and celebrations. They wined and dined and danced. It had been like something out of a dream. It was so easy to get carried away when she didn’t need to worry that if she got too deep into her cups she would wake in Petyr’s bed. Or worse. She had Jon by her side to protect her now.

 

Prya is an old hand at this, well into her forties, quiet and sensible. Sansa lets her perform her duties — undressing her and helping her wash in the meagre bathtub the merchant provided, then helping her brush her long red hair. She decided to wear it in a Northern style, a single braid that falls over her shoulder. She was the Wardeness of the North, after all. Sansa runs the perfumed oils that had been a gift from Lord Enys into her hair, under her arms, between her legs, along her jawbone. She had spent the past weeks in Jon’s arms, with his face pressed into her hair. It was as important to smell nice as it was to look pretty, if she was to win his heart. 

 

_ He’s already won mine, _ Sansa thought, rather glumly.

 

That had been unintentional, and it had happened far too quickly. How could Sansa claim to be control of this anymore?  As often as they disagreed, they would laugh, and with Jon’s arms around her she couldn’t help but feel warm. Jon and Alayne had more in common than she’d thought, and at first she had been Alayne when trying to woo Jon. It was easy to slip into the bolder girl’s skin, to hide Sansa inside herself so she wouldn’t be afraid. But sometimes she couldn’t help but be Sansa, that dreamy little girl who was soft and selfish and still a girl. Strangely, Jon was always warmer to Sansa than the seductress she tried so very hard to become. He liked to listen to her sing and play the bells. He liked to hear her tell stories, and he liked to watch the amazement in her eyes when he told her the truth of all he’d done. 

 

 Sansa stood and Prya helped her into her dress, lacing her corset tightly. 

 

Today they would be sailing right into the belly of beast — King’s Landing. It would be more dangerous than ever, she feared. Dragons flew overhead, and worse than that, she was in love with their mother’s husband. Over the past fortnight a new dream had come to take shape in her heart. The two of them sailing not to King’s Landing, but north to Winterfell. The two of them rebuilding the North, together. She did not mean to do it as his beloved sister, but as his beloved wife, and while such a dream was sweet it was surely impossible.

 

There was a knock on the door and Sansa covered herself in the same black silk robe she’d worn in her failed attempt to seduce Jon weeks before. Prya opened the door and the King himself stood there, an anxious look upon his face. She wished he would smile. He looked so much more handsome when he wasn’t so grumpy and serious. Sometimes it was exhausting to look at him and wonder what he was thinking, for he so seldom volunteered the information, or at least not to her. 

 

“I’d like a private audience with Lady Stark,” Jon said. Sansa’s stomach tightened at the thought of being alone with him, as though he was a strange man and not her dear Jon.  _ It’s not fear _ , she realized.  _ It’s anticipation _ . 

 

“Leave me, Prya,” Sansa said. Sansa looked in the mirror once more before turning to Jon. He closed the door, she noticed, though propriety demanded that it be left open when the two of them were together. They may have been brother and sister once, but they were cousins now. It was one thing to sneak into his room in the dead of night, and quite another to —

 

_ Oh no _ , she thought, suddenly remembering how she had done just that the previous night. She swallowed, and closed her eyes. She did her best to recall what she’d said or done but it was all so fuzzy. If she was no longer a maiden, surely she would know! And Jon would never take advantage of her in that state, she was certain of that. No, surely she must have made a fool of herself, and done or said something ridiculous. 

 

Jon sat on the settee at the end of the bed. He leaned close to her but averted his eyes for a moment. 

 

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he confessed, reaching an arm up to scratch the back of his neck. His face moved into a softer smile, as though he was remembering something sweet. It made her stomach tighten. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me, and I’ve come up with a solution, I think. If the words you spoke were true and not part of another scheme.” Jon looked up at her and caught her eye. There was something desperate and needy in them, though what he could need from her she wasn’t sure. She wanted to please him, though. She wanted Jon to be able to trust her again. She told herself she didn’t care about what he thought, or what any man thought anymore. But it was hard having him so close and yet so far away, feeling as though she was on the outside. Perhaps she was just beginning to believe in her own lies, the tale or seduction she spun for him. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to her.

 

“I don’t have any more schemes, My King,” Sansa said, a voice so low it was almost a whisper. 

 

Jon reached out and took her hands in his and squeezed. There was no mistaking the way he looked at her now — she could see something akin to love in his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. “The first Aegon had two wives. Rhaenys and Visenya. One for duty, and the other for love. If you truly do wish to marry me, I would take you as my wife.”

 

This Sansa had not been expecting, and it took her a moment to wrap her mind around the idea. 

 

“Surely Queen Daenerys would forbid such a union.”

 

Jon was a hard man, and his resolve remained. “I’m the rightful heir, Sansa, not her. True, she is much more interested in being Queen than I am in being King, but I am not bound to her will as a subject, she is bound to mine.”

 

Sansa had never considered the possibility of being only one of a man’s wives. The thought of him coming to her bed one night, and to another’s the next night made her skin crawl. And what would that to do Daenerys? “True, but she does have dragons. Surely she would not take the slight well.”

 

Jon smirked, “my wife loves our Targaryen heritage, Sansa. She admires Aegon the conqueror and his two wives — she loves nothing more than to hear stories of them, them and her brother Rhaegar. She will grow used to it. She’ll have no choice, when I bring you to King’s Landing as my wife, wedded and bedded.”

 

This was all so very sudden. But if she was Jon’s wife in truth, and Daenerys was barren and their marriage had gone as cold as Littlefinger suggested, perhaps it would be a suitable arrangement. It was Jon she wanted, after all. So what if she wouldn’t have him all to herself. Littlefinger was right. Sansa could give Jon things Daenerys never could. She was the last Stark, she had known him all her life. She could give him a son and they could raise him in Winterfell. She and Jon had spoken of their childhood so often over the past weeks Sansa knew that in his heart of hearts, that was what Jon wanted. 

 

“Alright,” Sansa said, and she leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “I accept your proposal.” She could not say she was not worried, but it was a happy surprise. She wondered what she had said to him when she was drunk. 

 

“We should do it soon, at the sept in the village.”

 

“Are you afraid of losing your nerve?” Sansa asked.

 

“No. I… I’m eager to have you in my bed is all.”

 

Sansa blushed like the maid she was, because she was just as eager to give herself to him. She had been a terrible tease the past fortnight. But an idea came to Sansa, blooming in the back of her mind, one she would not tell him about. Not yet, anyway. It was a scheme she’d thought about on the road already, in silly daydreams and hopes about the future. “I’ve been married in a sept before and it’s felt wrong. That is not a true wedding, and the seven are not the true gods. We are northerners, aren't we Jon? And after everything you learned beyond the wall, you know the Old Gods are the true Gods. We should have a true wedding, in front of a Heart Tree. Anything else would be false.”

 

Jon inspected her face, before taking it in his hand and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Aye, we are Northerners. And my gods are the Old Gods. We’ll find a weirwood before we set sail.”

 

Sansa smiled demurely and nodded. It was unlikely to happen, that was true, but if Jon were to admit that the seven were false gods, then his marriage too would be false. And then perhaps Sansa could have him all to herself. 

 

“Now leave me. If I’m to be wed today, I’ll need to prepare,” she smiled, and he kissed her again. Deeper this time, like they had that first time. A shiver ran down her spine as his tongue filled her mouth. She sighed against him, letting him kiss her like that for longer than she should. Finally Jon left, smiling over his shoulder at her before he closed the door.


	6. Jon

“Our ship is ready and waiting, whenever Your Grace wishes to set sail,” the Darkstar told Jon as they sat at breakfast. Jon did his best to eat his oats, but his thoughts were on the proposal he’d made minutes before. He nodded in acknowledgement at his bodyguard. The man may wear a white cloak, but Jon knew that he went to bed with Princess Arianne often enough. She had invited Jon to join them half a dozen times, before deciding Jon was too much a bore to pursue. But despite the fact that the man didn’t keep to his vows, he made a good enough knight. Daenerys had found the legend of the sword of the morning so captivating she’d scarcely cared the man who held the title was a known scoundrel. Jon had broken his own vows once, and he was rewarded with the keys to all seven kingdoms. And he’d been led to temptation himself over and over again for weeks on end now. He could not judge Ser Dayne.

 

“Lady Sansa and I will need to pray to the Old Gods before we unmoor,” Jon said. It was not a total lie, for prayer was part of the wedding ceremony. But he knew that their wedding would have to remain a secret for as long as it could. He’d need to tell Daenerys first, and she was not likely to take it well, for all her suggestions of women he should put a bastard on to make an heir. Marriage was different, and polygamy had not been practice since the last dragonlords had died out. As soon as Jon bedded Sansa, she would be a queen equal in status to Daenerys, and how could Dany see that as anything but a slight? He knew it was stupid, that he was a fool in love with somebody he still wasn’t sure he could trust, and yet he could not bring himself to care if he woke the dragon. Jon had given up so much for her already, it was Daenerys’ turn to accommodate him. 

 

“I’ll have your squire send a raven to Lord Grafton.”

 

“As soon as Lady Sansa is dressed and fed, we’ll make our way to the castle. But only you need come with me. Send the rest on to port to board the ship.”

 

Jon turned back to his oats till he saw Sansa enter the hall. He stood when she entered, not thinking of the other people in the room who looked on with watchful eyes. He pulled Sansa’s chair out for her, thinking that would be something she would like. Jon was not what Sansa wanted. He knew that, even if she didn’t. He was hard and cold, not the soft and honourable knight that the singers had turned him into. She’d come to realize it eventually, of that he had no doubt, but if he could forestall that, he would live in this dream with her. He was happy here, even if it was an illusion. 

 

Sansa smiled up at him as she took her seat. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, her eyes shining. She seemed happy here too, eager to believe Jon was somebody he wasn’t. 

 

They eat in silence, but Sansa reached her hand under the table and squeezed his knee. He grabbed her hand and they intertwined their fingers, hidden from everyone around them. 

 

Neither Jon nor Sansa spoke of the wedding. After breakfast they said their thanks to their hosts. 

 

“We need to make our way to a godswood to pray before sailing,” Jon told the new Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort, taking Sansa’s arm. He’d already grown used to taking possession of her in public, and the wolf deep down inside him howled with a need to claim her as his in a more primal way.

 

“I suppose we’ll do the same before we leave for the North… it was the Old Gods who blessed us with your visit, Lady Stark.”

 

“Oh, you don’t need to be as superstitious as our King,” Sansa said, the suggestive edge in her voice only noticed by him, “but we Starks have always believed that the Old Gods are the only true gods. Haven’t we, Jon?”

 

Jon nodded his assent, and the people in the room took notice. 

 

“I feel silly praying to a tree,” said a child in attendance, no older than Rickon would be now. 

 

The woman who must have been his mother shushed him. “I’m sorry, m’Lord. He doesn’t know what he was saying. We were raised in the Light of the Seven, but that was before we were saved by a godly man like yourself from the white walkers...”

 

“My father had a sept built at Winterfell for my mother. I was like you too, once upon a time. I listened to my septa, I sang my hymns. But when Winterfell was burned, the sept burnt too. No flame — not even dragon fire — could burn the Heart Tree. The roots are deep and strong, and the Old Gods are the only ones with any power,” Sansa answered before Jon could. “They’ll keep you safe, even if you feel silly.”

 

Jon did not want to discuss religious semantics now, not when he was waiting to be wed, but he nodded along with Sansa anyway. “We must go,” he said, rather briskly, thanking them once more. He didn’t care if the villagers noticed him pull Sansa onto his horse, or rush away with her held as tightly to him as he could, the Darkstar taking off behind them. They’d hear of the wedding soon enough.

 

“I didn’t know you were so pious,” Jon said, digging his spurs into the horse to urge him on.

 

“I meant what I said. The Old Gods kept me alive, in a way. The godswood is the one place in King’s Landing I look forward to seeing again.”

 

Jon didn’t like to think of Sansa in King’s Landing, helpless and afraid. Once he’d wanted to ride south to help Robb and to rescue his sisters from the Lannisters, but he’d chosen honour instead. He felt guilty about her staying there, and envious of Petyr Baelish for being the one who got to rescue her, but he knew that if he’d become a deserter he wouldn’t have been able to change things for Sansa.

 

“It’s been a long time since I kneeled in front of a heart tree,” Jon admitted.

 

“It’s not difficult. I’ll show you.”

 

He thinks for few moments on how very much he and Sansa have changed over the years they spent apart. Before Jon would have imagined that if he ever saw his sister again, she would be Joffrey’s queen. She would be high above him, and there would be nothing in the North left in her. But if anything, time and pain and loss had made them grow more compatible. They had softened their edges and prejudices and could see each other as they truly were. For all his worry about whether or not Sansa could be truthful, he had been tender enough with anyone to show them his naked soul. He’d never been that vulnerable, not even with Ygritte, whom he loved and left, nor Robb, who he always envied in secret shame, or Daenerys, who he’d married to unite the realm under a banner he despised.

 

Even as he stood in front of the Heart Tree, Jon couldn’t be sure whether or not he was making a mistake. It had been so long since he’d had a woman’s comforts, and Sansa was so very beautiful. He’d thought about it, over and over until he was driven half insane with lust. Every time he’d come to suspect he’d discovered who Sansa Stark truly was, she surprised him. But he claimed her as his wife in front of the Old Gods anyway. No man could tell a lie in front of a Heart Tree, or he’d be cursed by the gods. His heart was true, and his soul was safe from any further damnation. When Sansa kissed him, it felt honest and real, but still he wondered. Sansa had been a pawn for a long time. She’d survived, and he was glad for it, but how could he know if she was still playing the game?

 

Sansa looked radiant as she rested her hands on his chest. She looked into his eyes so adoringly he couldn’t believe her false. She was his wife now, and so he’d choose to give in, as much as such a thing could be a choice. He kissed her again, and this time she nibbled on his lip and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. 

 

“Where do you plan on bedding me?” Sansa asked when they pulled apart. “Are we to ask Lord and Lady Grafton for a bed, or are we to ask Ser Dayne to turn aside and you can take me right here?”

 

Jon stiffened at the thought of claiming her in the godswood, offering her maidenhead as a blood sacrifice to the Old Gods. He’d planned to consummate the marriage in his cabin once they’d sailed. He thought Sansa would enjoy the featherbed and the privacy. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until we got to our cabin?”

 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jon,” Sansa said, a wicked glint in her eye, “we’re married by the Old Gods, and you should take me here in front of them. It’s the older way.”

 

Jon wasn’t sure if that was true, but Sansa had become very devoted to the older religion, and he could not imagine a reason for her to lie about that. He didn’t have to think about it much. He was so hard. It would be agony to get all the way back to the ship before he could bed his bride. So he pulled off his cloak and laid it against the floor of the godswood, to give Sansa somewhere soft to lay. “I’ll have you here.”

 

“Jon?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Will you help me undress? I’m laced up awfully tight. Usually I have a lady’s maid to help me.”

 

Jon nodded. He didn’t want to seem too eager, as though he’d never undressed a maiden before. But in truth, he hadn’t. Daenerys had always summoned him when she was in bed and ready, and Ygritte had always hopped on top of him to take charge. And Sansa’s lace dress was so very delicate… his hands were gentle as they unlaced the back of her corset. “Are you sure you want to do this here? With Ser Dayne so close?”

 

“He has his back turned.”

 

“He’ll still hear,” Jon pointed out.

 

“And so will the Old Gods. They’ll know our marriage is true.”

 

Jon could protest no longer, for the need inside him was urgent. When Sansa was stripped down to just her small clothes, Jon stepped back and smiled. He thought to leave it at that, to give her some modesty, but Sansa pulled her shift over her head, exposing her naked body to the cool morning air. Her light pink nipples pebbled, and Jon could not resist but kneel beside her and take one in his mouth. His hand grazed the other, his touch featherlight and teasing. Sansa let herself fall back on his cloak, and Jon followed her, his tongue circling around her nipple. He would devour her now, before they were forced to go back to their true lives. The two of them could be honest like this, Jon knew the way she murmured “ _ gods” _ under her breath when his hand slipped between her legs was no lie. There was no tension in her body, she laid back with the flashes of sun between the trees illuminating her soft skin. She seemed to know how gorgeous she was, for she did not shy from the light, she let him worship her.

 

His lips ran between her breasts, grazing the soft skin of her abdomen with his teeth. He pushed her legs apart and found her wet and wanting, begging to be touched. The thought of this had haunted him for weeks, and Sansa gasped when his lips met her. 

 

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked, confusion and lust in her voice.

 

“Getting you ready,” Jon said, for want of a better explanation. 

 

“Okay,” Sansa said, releasing a pent up breath and laying back still in obedience. Her easy submission to him heated his blood, as did the little whimper she made when she bucked her hips against his tongue. Soon she was panting and squeezing her legs tight around his head. He wondered what the Darkstar thought of this, and if he’d tell Princess Arianne. In this heady state of lust he liked the idea of the court talking about how passionately Sansa had writhed beneath him in the Godswood, how eager the beautiful and honourable Sansa Stark was to take him inside her. 

 

When she came, he ripped open the front of his breeches and pressed inside her without taking off any of his clothes. He wasn’t as gentle as he could be, eager to feel her wet cunt tight around him. She cried out in pain, and he slowed, but after a moment she was scratching at his back to urge him on. Sansa had many suitors, and could have married anyone she wanted, but it was only him who she let fuck her. 

 

“I’m your wife now,” Sansa whispered as Jon thrust into her and spilled his seed. 

 

“Aye,” he said, reluctant to pull out of her. He kissed her neck, feeling warm and loved and known for the first time in so very long. Their connection was real, her love was true, he knew it now. She offered him her lips, and kissed him messily. 

 

Finally, he pulled apart from her and helped her dress. He took his time with it, pressing a kiss to every part of her body he’d missed. His hands lingered on her cunt, her ass, her breasts, her long legs and beautiful neck. Sansa’s body was responsive, and her cunt was still wet when he’d dressed her. He meant for her to be ready when they got to port, eager for him to take her again and again. On the days it took them to return to King’s Landing, Jon planned on spending most of it in his royal cabin with his new wife. He’d keep her naked and in bed for the entire journey, if such a thing was possible. He would bring her all she needed, and all she would have to do is peak again and again, in his mouth, around his fingers, around his cock. He was a depraved man, he knew it, and weak.

 

“This is torturous,” Sansa protested as she was nearly dressed. 

 

He’d grown hard again by then, and far be it from him to deny her pleasures. she had been such a good girl, submitting eagerly to every one of his touches. He pushed her back onto his cloak and pushed her skirts up, pulled his breeches to his knees and sunk into her once more. He was less urgent, for he’d had her once and knew he could have her thousands of times more. She looked into his eyes this time, and he almost drowned in them as he thrust into her. She peaked first, and the look of pleasure on her face made him come apart as well.

  
  



	7. Sansa / Arianne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is on the short side, but it’s just necessary groundwork to relay before Jon and Sansa arrive in King’s Landing next chapter <3

The  _ Balerion _ was one of Daenerys’ flagships. It had come with her all the way from Qarth. Sansa knew the story, of how Daenerys Targaryen had languished in Essos waiting for ships to bring her and her armies to Westeros. How she was found by Barristan the Bold, who’d disguised himself as a squire. It was a tale that seemed unbelievable, but Jon confirmed the truth of the song when the two of them were abed. It felt wrong to discuss Daenerys so casually, the two of them lay naked on the featherbed in the King’s cabin. Sansa knew that this was truly the Queen’s cabin, and that she would not take kindly to Jon making love to another women in her own bed.

 

“How shall you tell the Queen that we’ve wed?” Sansa asked after taking a long sip of the wine Jon’s servants had brought to her bedside. Anxiety swelled in her belly, because all of this was too much, too soon, wasn’t it? Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Sansa worried that it was all a trick to get her on her back, and he would throw her over when they met dry land again. She’d seen the apprehension in his eyes when they’d said their vows under the Heart Tree, and she’d made sure the bedding had a witness so Jon could not easily deny that it had taken place. She had not expected that being watched in the act would be anything but practical, but it had given her a heady rush when she knew another man heard her moans. “Perhaps you should write to her? So she’d have a chance to calm down before we arrive.”

 

Jon winced, “no, this is news I should tell her in person.”

 

“But she won’t take kindly to it, will she?” Sansa asked, turning over onto her side to look at him more closely. “I would be jealous too, I don’t blame her.”

 

“I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes. “We haven’t gone to bed together in a long time, Sansa. She has a lover.”

 

“Oh?” This was news to Sansa. Petyr had told her twisted tales of Daenerys Targaryen’s voracious sexual appetites, but Sansa had always assumed they were meant to shock, or even to arouse her. Some of the things Petyr had done to arouse her had been unexplainably odd, that he even thought he’d be capable of it was merely the delusion of a madman. She’d never taken the stories to be true. The stories had been vile — that she liked to have sex openly, taking more than one man at a time, how she enslaved men that piqued her interest.

 

“A woman.”

 

“A woman?” That she had not expected. 

 

“Her hostage — Margaery Tyrell.”

 

“Margaery?” Of her, there had been rumours, but those she’d expected started by Cersei, who had done her best to ruin Sansa’s reputation as well as the ‘little queen’s’. Sansa had never believed them, Margaery had been perfectly lovely to Sansa, one of the only people who had shown her any kindness at all. Once Sansa had looked forward to a great friendship between them. She’d loved her brother Loras and been betrothed to the heir of Highgarden, Willas. She and Margaery had already shared secrets, and then they would have been sisters. But that had all fallen apart, of course.

 

“I’m surprised Littlefinger hadn’t told you. Though perhaps he’s not as wise on the gossip in King’s Landing these days. Daenerys has shut down his brothels.”

 

“So she won’t mind, then?” Sansa asked happily, “that I’ve stolen you all for myself?” She was grinning, then. She’d felt nearly diabolical taking Jon from his lawful wife, a woman who’d done nothing to her. But if she preferred the company of women, where was the harm? If such a rumour was to spread through the kingdoms, who would blame Jon for taking a second wife... or even for setting Daenerys aside? Sansa kissed him before he could answer, running his fingers through the soft hair on his chest. 

 

Jon did not respond to her, but it was likely because she’d distracted him. She was good at that, and getting better with each day that passed with the two of them at sea. They’d rarely left the cabin, except for meals and to freshen up. So Sansa did not worry about anything, even as the boat rocked back and forth in the heavy waves. Perhaps a wiser woman would have seen the coming storm on the horizon as prophetic, but Sansa did not care about such follies. She was _in love_. 

 

***

 

Meanwhile in King’s Landing, a raven had arrived and was quickly read by the maester before being handed along to Arianne Martell. It was written in the Darkstar’s usual sparse prose, lacking even a signature or a date:

 

_ We shall arrive by Monday next, the King has taken a second wife, Sansa of House Stark. She was wedded in bedded in the Grafton godswood in Gulltown.  _

 

The Darkstar kept her abreast of all sorts of developments. If he was not loyal, he was certainly a born gossip who thrived on chaos. The news itself did not entirely surprise Arianne. It was well known that Daenerys was barren -- she claimed her womb had been cursed by a witch, but Arianne suspected the Targaryens habitual inbreeding had done the trick. If the fledgling empire was to have an heir, the loyal Jon Snow would need to get a bastard on some woman. Arianne herself had done her best to supply the kingdom with an heir. She’d volunteered to join the King and Queen in bed, and when that didn’t work invited Jon to join her and Ser Dayne. Jon’s rejections had all been unfailingly polite, but reject her he did. For awhile, Arianne thought Margaery Tyrell was sure to birth the much anticipated Targaryen heir. But it had become clear that when Daenerys took it to bed, Jon didn’t join them. The image of Jon bedding a beautiful auburn haired woman on the floor of the Godswood came to Arianne, but such a thought was laughable. The Northmen may like their trees, but it was more likely her dear Ser Dayne was a grammatical failure.

 

What did surprise her was that there had been a secret wedding. She folded the letter and slid it beneath her corset. It would not do for the castle to hear of this before Arianne was ready to move with the information. It would be necessary to see just how secret it was. If the dragon queen didn’t know she now had an equal, Arianne wasn’t certain she wanted to be the one who broke the news to her. Arianne was no fan of Daenerys’, but only a fool would not fear her. 

 

Arianne saw the Queen everyday at the small council. It was now populated by almost as many women as men, but there were as many fools as there ever was. Jon was much more reasonable than his wife, who had taken over his seat during his trip to visit his cousin in the Vale. He was supposed to bring back food and the promise of more, though Arianne had wagered he was more likely to bring back Littlefinger’s head. Though the realm desperately needed grain shipments, Sam the maester or even Daenerys with her dragons would have made a more compelling argument. 

 

“I’ve had news from my Lord Husband,” Queen Daenerys said not long into the meeting. This was not on the agenda, but without Jon to lead things tended to fall into a disarray. “He’s bringing Lady Stark to King’s Landing as a hostage for Lord Baelish’s good behaviour. The first of the food shipments will be with them on the  _ Balerion _ .” 

 

At her side, Margaery Tyrell smiled. Margaery had no official place on the King’s council, that she had thrice been queen to usurpers did not seem to bother Daenerys, who trusted her with state secrets and personal confidences alike. “Shall we need to keep her as a hostage? She was always meant to marry my brother, Willas, and he’s still without a wife. Lady Sansa is a widow, and I know she wanted the match nearly as much as my sweet brother had.”

 

“I’ll need to meet her before I decide if she’s trustworthy enough to be entrusted with both the North and the Reach,” Daenerys said after a moment of consideration. “But she is my sister in marriage — or at least, the closest thing I shall ever get to a sister — so I will consider the match. It’s unlikely she’ll want to be involved in Jon’s northern resettlement plan.”

 

“The North is her birthright, Your Grace,” Sam reminded her. 

 

“I know,” Daenerys said, somewhat annoyed, “but Jon’s told me much of his family, and I don’t think Sansa Stark is the sort of girl who would enjoy homesteading. I confess, I have considered marrying her to some lower lord. Edric Dayne, perhaps? Or one of Robert’s surviving bastards, to help keep the Stormlands loyal to us. Though, I suppose I should ask Jon before I make any decisions. She is his sister after all.”

 

“Perhaps the King should take her as a mistress,” Arianne said, with a smirk, unable to help herself.

 

To that Daenerys had nothing to say. She was not fond of Arianne, who had tried her best to steal her third husband from her before the wedding, and when Daenerys had married Aegon Targaryen in the end, had become his lover. It was likely Daenerys also knew that Arianne had made great sport out of trying to seduce her current husband. 

 

“Not the worst idea,” said the Grandmaester who sat across from her. “You’ve told us that you are incapable of producing an heir, Your Grace. And while King Jon’s fidelity is to be admired, without a clear heir the kingdoms will break out in civil war when the two of you die.”

 

“I’m aware,” Daenerys snapped. “Believe me, I’m working on a plan for the succession. But I could not allow the Starks so much, not after the disloyalty they’ve shown my family.”

 

“The king is half Stark,” Sam reminded Daenerys.

 

“And that’s more than enough already. We have no need of making alliances with House Stark, for Lady Sansa will be our hostage, and I have no intention of launching a Stark dynasty. That’s not what I’ve fought all these years for.”

 

It was then that Arianne knew she must call her banners. She had yet to decide which Queen she would declare for, but that there would be a war was readily apparent. There were two dragons left in the Seven Kingdoms, and when they stood united it was necessary to placate them. But she had waited a long time to make her move, and the time to rebel would not be long now.


	8. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s taken a few weeks to update! Hope you enjoy <3

The journey home to King’s Landing was rough, and not only because Jon worried about bringing his new bride home to the viper’s nest. The seas did not relent, causing their ship to get off course more than once. On some nights Sansa would hold him tight, both of them wide awake, worried they would both drown. If anything the chaos of the seas seemed to make them grow more lustful. Well aware they could die at any time, they found solace in each other’s bodies. It did not take long for Jon to know Sansa’s body as well as his own.

 

“This is torturous,” Sansa said one night, her chest heaving as the ship swayed back and forth underneath them. Jon’s tongue was between her legs, but he’d opted to tease her rather than to give her quick satisfaction. 

 

He sucked on her and she moaned so loudly he was certain that any of the oarsmen rowing beneath them could hear her. He wondered what they thought of him. A Targaryen king taking a second bride, and his sister no less, and neither of them with any shame about how enthusiastic they were to get into bed. He wondered if Sansa would care for him this freely once they were at court, or if such a thing would even be safe. 

 

“I didn’t think you liked easy relief,” Jon said, pulling his lips away from her cunt with some reluctance. He was teasing her again, but in truth he would not mind taking her fast and dirty on their featherbed. 

 

“Some relief would be nice, though,” Sansa said with a sigh, grabbing his head and pulling his head closer. “Do you agonize your other wife like this, Jon Snow?”

 

Jon groaned and ran his tongue against her again. He didn’t want to think about Daenerys when he had Sansa like this. In truth, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had bedded his wife, but she’d certainly never been as excited to have him as his little sister was. He looked up at her and grew harder from the way her head was thrown back against the pillows. Any talk of Daenerys seemed to die when his tongue began to swirl circles around her clit, and Sansa’s breath grew ragged. He could sense she was growing increasingly desperate. He’d spent so much time between her legs he’d gotten this down to a science. 

 

After she’d come against his tongue, Sansa grabbed Jon’s hands and intertwined her fingers in his. She pulled him towards her, and he layed on top of her. Sansa never shied away from the taste of herself on his tongue, and she kissed him eagerly now. Jon relaxed despite the storm raging outside. He had her to cling to, after all.

 

“You should come inside me now, maybe we could have an heir by the time we get to dry land,” Sansa said, sighing as he kissed her neck.

 

It was perverse, he knew, but little aroused him more than Sansa’s desire to carry his child. Whenever she spoke of their heir, and the necessity of procreating, Jon grew immediately distracted. He should be worried, he knew that was the logical emotion to have when considering what was waiting for them in King’s Landing. And yet the thought of a crown on Sansa’s head, her arm in his as they walked to the throne room, the court seeing her growing thick with child made him smile. 

 

He entered her easily and she hummed with pleasure as he thrust into her for the first time. Sansa was always very eager to help him along, and today was no different. She wrapped her thighs around him and squeezed, and then moved her hips to help set the speed. She had been a maid a fortnight ago, when he’d first had her on the floor of the godswood as Ser Dayne looked the other way. But Sansa was a natural, a quick study in the ways of pleasure. 

 

“Have you given any thought as to what we’ll name our first born?” Sansa said in a low, breathy voice. She ran her hands across his back and then lightly scratched him with her fingernails.

 

He groaned. This sort of discussion should not make him quite so restless, but he could not blame Sansa entirely for this. She had simply picked up on his desire, and she was smart enough to see that every time she did it drove him crazy. 

 

“A Stark name, I think,” Sansa said, the words whispered into his ear as he thrust into her. “Eddard, or Arya for a girl. Unless… unless that would remind you of the fact that we shared a father? But then, you’re a Targaryen king, and such things are hardly shocking, are they?”

 

Jon nipped Sansa’s neck with his teeth and Sansa squealed. He had been thinking much the same thing. It only made sense to name their child after the people in their life he had lost. But Sansa seemed to enjoy reminding him how perverted it was that they enjoyed lying together. “Does it shock you, My Queen?” Jon asked, slowing his thrusts inside her and looking into her eyes. 

 

“I’ll admit it did, when Littlefinger proposed such an arrangement to me. But the longer time I spent with you… the more I shocked myself with how much I desired you, and how perfectly suited we are,” Sansa said, her face suddenly serious. 

 

Jon smiled, thinking of the night Sansa had come to her room to tell him that she was in love with him. All of this would be worth it in the end, any politicking they had to do in order to be together. She kissed him and he kissed her back enthusiastically, losing himself in her. She began to thrust her hips again, and he met her halfway. He came inside her. Afterwards he kept her enveloped in his arms, their mouths still attached. They stayed like that for a long while, Jon’s heart lost to an avalanche of tenderness. 

 

**

 

When they emerge from their ship days later, Jon was hopeful Sansa truly was with child. He could not be sure what rumours had manifested in his time away, but the crowds that came to greet them were sparse enough that Jon relaxed. The men Jon hadn’t brought with him to the Eyrie waited at shore, and brought Jon a stallion to ride to the Red Keep. His men were mostly Wildlings, men from the former Night’s Watch, and surviving Northmen. He had never made his Wildlings kneel, but Jon trusted them as much as he’d trust any man, and besides that he knew them to be suspicious of Daenerys. 

 

As Jon mounted the stallion, Dolorous Edd stepped off of his own steed and bowed to Sansa, knowing immediately who she was. “You can have my horse if you’d like, Lady Stark,” he said, uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

 

Jon exhaled. It was now or ever. “Thank you for your kind offer, but Queen Sansa will ride with me,” he said to Edd. Jon turned to Sansa and offered her his hand. She blushed as the crowd whispered about them, her shy smile so sweet Jon thought his heart might burst. Sansa accepted his hand and he pulled her up onto the horse, in front of her. 

 

They galloped away from the crowds, his men following. 

 

When they reached the stables, Edd was at his side once more after Sansa had dismounted. “Queen Sansa? Has the dragon queen died?”

 

Beside him several Wildlings listened eagerly. Tormund raised an eyebrow, “have you finally given the North their freedom back? Then what’s to happen with us?”

 

“Daenerys is not dead, I’ve simply taken another wife,” Jon said, realizing how silly that sounded when Tormund and the other Wildlings erupted into hearty laughter. “It’s common practice among Targaryen kings,” he insisted, but in the end had to walk away and leave them to their mockery.

 

He took Sansa’s arm again outside the stables. “Are you alright, My Queen?” Jon asked, forgetting the silliness as soon as he looked into Sansa’s blue eyes. 

 

“I’m a little nervous,” she said, squaring her shoulders. 

 

“You needn’t be. I’ll be there, and I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

 

They faced the long walk to the throne room together, walking past Daenerys’ dothraki and unsullied guards, past a court full of peering eyes of southron lords and ladies, past half a dozen dragon skulls, past Margaery Tyrell who curtseyed so low Jon might forget she was his enemy. Finally they stood before Daenerys Stormborn, who had fire in her eyes she could not disguise, though she did her best to make herself a picture of serenity.

 

“Welcome home, Jon,” Daenerys said, the sides of her mouth curling into what was surely meant to be a sweet smile. “And this must be your sister, Lady Sansa.”

 

Beside him, Sansa curtseyed. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she said. 

 

The court was more silent than it had ever been. Clearly word had reached the capital of his marriage, though who sent the raven he’d never know. He had been careless, truly, for he was drunk on love and lust, sex and sin. Every eye was upon them, waiting anxiously to see how the Dragon Queen reacted to being tossed aside by her husband.

 

“Daenerys. My wife, my queen. I bring you pleasant news,” Jon said, knowing to be deferential and adoring. That was how she preferred her supplicants as well as her suitors. Jon had made the mistake of being blunt with her before, and he wouldn’t do it again, not with Sansa’s happiness at stake. 

 

“Oh?”

 

“We have done our best to restore the Targaryen Empire together. We have met with some success, due to your valiant efforts.”

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes, but she did not stop him.

 

“But in order to protect the realm, it is necessary for me to take not one but two wives, as our ancestor Aegon the Conquerer did. And so I have wed my cousin, the Lady Sansa Stark, in sights of gods and men. I know that the three of us will be happy, we will have an heir, and will successfully rule the seven kingdoms. Together.”

 

There was a collective gasp, but after that the room went silent once again. Daenerys simply stared at him, as if she willed him to catch on fire in front of her. At last she sighed, “thank you, Your Grace, for always thinking of the needs of the realm above your own.” She turned to Ser Barristan, who stood by her side with pride and who had not once shown a flash of emotion at the exchange. “Ser, please bring Lady Sansa to the Queen’s quarters and have my handmaidens arrange for her to be bathed. It was a long trip, I’m sure she could use a chance to relax,” Daenerys paused, “make sure not to let her out of your sight, Ser Barristan.”

 

Ser Barristan nodded and walked away. Jon trusted the man with her, after all he was sworn to protect Jon as Rhaegar’s son and as his King, and he was noble and honourable enough to see that Sansa was now his Queen. Sansa did not hesitate to leave with Ser Barristan, and she did not look back. But then, Sansa had been well trained to accept whatever had been done to her by now. This was not how it was supposed to go. He felt utterly helpless as he watched Sansa walk away. 

 

“Court is dismissed for the day,” Daenerys said, standing up and smoothing the skirt of her dress. “I need some time alone to catch up with my husband.”

 

Jon stared at Daenerys as the spectators filtered out of the room. Ser Dayne remained at his side, as did Ser Jorah at hers. Margaery Tyrell also remained, demurely playing the harp on a stool beside the iron throne. Daenerys did not ask her to leave, but then, Jon hadn’t expected her to. 

 

“Have you lost your mind?” Daenerys asked when they were mostly alone. Her eyes might be fire, but her voice was all ice. “Surely a raven must have gotten lost, at the very least. I could not believe the news at first — I gave you the benefit of the doubt until you showed your face here,  _ Lord Snow.  _ I still can’t imagine it. I thought you were a good man, or at least one who had honour. But what sort of man takes a second wife without even consulting the first? _ ” _

 

Daenerys looked at Jon, but the silence now was overtaken by the sweet melody Margaery was playing on the strings. 

 

“I am the King, and I am well within my rights,” Jon said, flatly. “Sansa’s position will not usurp yours, Daenerys. This is for the best. She can provide us with an heir.”

 

“Us?” Daenerys scoffed, “you mean provide  _ you _ with an heir. We had discussed raising a bastard to our heir, somebody with our Targaryen blood. I’d meant you could sire a child on a woman we chose, not that there would suddenly be a more fertile queen.”

 

“I mean no disrespect — but I had no intention on bedding Lady Margaery. Not ever.”

 

Daenerys huffed, “had your sister not seduced you, you would have come around to the idea. Once the three of us got into bed, you would change your mind. Lady Tyrell is very talented with her tongue, and I still intend for her to carry the heir to the seven kingdoms.”

 

“Queen Sansa is already with child,” Jon said, though there was no definite proof of that other than his own desire for it to be true. 

 

“The marriage will be annulled, Jon. It will not stand. It is not right, and you know that, it’s why you kept it from me. It was badly done. Perhaps if you’d brought her to court I would have allowed you to bed her, I would have even raised one of your sons up to be King after us. Who knows — perhaps I might’ve even have taken her into my own bed,” Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him in defiance. Jon was well aware she was intending to infuriate him, and he did not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.  “But I am the only Queen the Seven Kingdoms will have whilst I live.” Daenerys held her hand out to Lady Margaery, and the two of them stalked out of the room, followed by Ser Jorah. 


	9. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a few weeks since I updated... sorry for the wait! I’m so easily distracted. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner :)

Nothing that had occurred in the throne room was entirely new to Sansa. As Ser Barristan the Bold gently guided her out of Jon’s sight to the queen’s chambers, for a moment she forgot that any time had passed at all. It was like she was back at Cersei’s court, doing her best to evade the wrath of the king and the guards he used to beat her for his sick entertainment. All that had changed in the intervening years was the sigil that flew above the Red Keep, and Sansa herself. She was no longer a frightened, stupid little girl eager to please everyone. After all, she was a queen in her own right now, with as much right to all of this in the eyes of the gods as Daenerys Targaryen.

 

Not that she really wanted any of it.

 

Looking at the Red Keep now, covered in Targaryen regalia, full of the bones of long dead dragons, Sansa wasn’t sure why she ever had dreamed of living here. 

 

She smiled courteously to Ser Barristan and his squire. “I never thought I’d see you again, Ser,” she said politely.

 

“This is where I belong,” Ser Barristan replied. 

 

To that Sansa said nothing. She looked over the castle with a careful eye, trying to keep track of what had changed over the years since she’d been held captive here. It did not take long for Sansa to lose track of the number of ornamental dragons adorning the walls, but she could not help but notice that despite the fact that Jon was allegedly the king, there was not a single wolf decorating the castle. That would change now that she was here, she thought, unable to contain a smirk as she imagined redecorating her former prison. As soon as she was free of whatever sort of inquisition Daenerys was putting her through, she would contact an artist to paint a lifesize portrait of Ghost. She would hang it above Jon’s bed, so that way of Daenerys ever ventured into Jon’s chambers, she would feel Sansa’s presence if she ever tried to worm her way back into his arms.

 

It was only then that Sansa realized that the derision that was building up inside of her was jealousy. Petyr would not have approved of such an emotion. It was nothing if not distracting, and she had work to do… and yet, she couldn’t help but feel it anyway. 

 

Ser Barristan led Sansa into the queen’s chambers, and then to a room off to the side. There was a large tub standing in the middle of the room, large enough for two or three people. It was already full of water. 

 

“The Queen thought you’d want to freshen up after your journey,” Ser Barristan said, not unkindly, but as though Sansa hadn’t heard the orders in the throne room. 

 

“How kind of her.”

 

Several maids came to help Sansa undress. Ser Barristan averted his eyes, but kept her in his peripheral vision. At least he wanted to allow her some dignity. It was clear that the entire point of this exercise was not kindness but to strip Sansa of her pride along with her dress. But the only way that could happen was if she gave it away. Sansa had nothing to be ashamed of, did she? She was not twelve anymore, being stripped in the throne room at Joffrey’s command. She was made of stronger stuff than any of the gawkers who’d told Daenerys stories about her remembered. 

 

So she did not flinch as she was undressed and bathed by the maids, nor when Daenerys and her ladies came into the room.

 

“I can take it from here, Ser Barristan,” Daenerys said as she dismissed the old knight. Behind her stood Margaery Tyrell, somebody Sansa had learned long ago wasn’t trustworthy. Still, Sansa hadn’t truly believed Jon that she’d become the Queen’s lover until she saw Margaery standing so diligently behind Daenerys. “This is Princess Arianne, and of course, you know Margaery, Lady Sansa?”

 

“I do.”

 

To Sansa’s surprise, Arianne curtseyed low when greeting Sansa. “Your Grace,” she said, her head bowed. Daenerys’ head whipped around to glare at the wayward princess. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Arianne,” Sansa said genuinely. It took restraint not to laugh at the evil look on Daenerys’ face. “And you too, of course, Daenerys. I know we’ll become the best of friends.”

 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Do you think so?”

 

“We’re married to the same man, aren’t we? It would be so sad if we wasted our time hating each other when we could be allies.”

 

“She has a point,” Arianne said. “Visenya and Rhaenys were undefeatable together.” It seemed as though she was trying to help, but Arianne’s words only seemed to irritate Daenerys. Arianne looked almost sheepish as Daenerys shot her another reproachful look.

 

“You two can wait outside for me while I talk to Lady Sansa.”

 

“It was a pleasure meeting you, My Queen.”

 

“And you, Princess.”

 

Sansa pretended she didn’t notice Daenerys’ failure to address her by her proper honorific title and relaxed against the back of the tub. She smiled amiably, pretending like she felt like she belonged here. The tips of her breasts were exposed as they rose above the waterline, and her nipples pebbled in the cold room. Still she stayed at ease, daring Daenerys to gaze at her body and imagine all the things Sansa had done with Daenerys’ husband while they were on that boat. 

 

“You seem at ease in my chambers, Sansa. Like you belong here.”

 

“I spent my childhood in the Red Keep.”

 

“I’ve heard. Lord Varys has told me all about your childhood. About how ambitious you are. Still, I scarcely believed the gossip when I heard it. I must admit my curiosity is piqued. What sort of woman seduces her married brother?” 

 

Like Sansa had expected they would, Daenerys’ eyes roamed over her naked body, staring at her through the clear water. Sansa was silent for a few moments, letting Daenerys engage her curiosity before she cleared her throat. Daenerys glared at her, the fire in her eyes burning. With that, Sansa said what she’d been practicing in her mind since Daenerys had sent her off to bathe: “Jon’s told me you prefer the company of women in the bedroom… but I must admit, I was a virgin when we married, I haven’t been prepared to please a woman. If that’s… what’s expected of me. Jon never said anything about that.”

 

“Don’t worry. That’s not why I wanted to get a look at you.”

 

“Oh… my apologies for presuming. The stories of your… appetites…” Sansa looked away, feigning sheepishness. 

 

Daenerys chose not to address that. “I suppose I’ll need a Maester to get a better look at you, but you don’t appear to be with child to me. You’re little more than a child yourself. How old are you?”

 

“Sixteen.”

 

“Older than I was when I was with child for the first time, true, but you seem younger. More naive. Perhaps you’ve simply never been properly instructed on how to behave, but then, neither was I. I’m not a cruel woman, Lady Sansa, so I will give you some advice before I send you away… do not cross me. Not if you value your life, or Jon’s.”

 

Sansa furrowed her brow in genuine disbelief. Had Daenerys really threatened Jon, who was her own kin as well as her husband?

 

“If it comes to war between the two of us, you will lose, Lady Stark. You already have. You have no allies, no armies, and I highly doubt you truly are with child. Marrying my husband was an act of hubris by a foolish girl. One I will forgive if you publicly renounce your marriage and remarry the man of my choice.”

 

A silence fell over the room as Sansa considered what Daenerys had said. For a moment she contemplated going North alone, talking her way out of this and giving up on whatever foolishness she’d started. But it did not take long for her to find courage in her heart once more. “I cannot,” she said.

 

“You’re smarter than that, aren’t you? What reason could you possibly have for defying your true queen?”

 

“Me and Jon married in the godswood in front of the Old Gods. The true gods. I cannot walk away from that. It cannot be undone by the high septon or anyone else. I am bound to him for life.”

 

“The Old Gods? You mean the trees?” 

 

“Well, yes. We married in front of the heart tree.”

 

Daenerys threw her head back and laughed. “I think I gave you too much credit. You didn’t seduce him, did you? No, I don’t think you have the mind for that. Are all of you Northerners as stupid as you appear?”

 

Sansa had enough of this discussion. She stood up in the now-cool water and stepped out of the tub, droplets of water falling off her as she did. There was a plush Volantene towel waiting for her on a stool and she began to dry herself. “He’s my husband. And I think I’d like to see him now. I’m quite tired from the journey and have had enough of this conversation. Unless I’m your prisoner.”

 

“No. You’re not my prisoner. Not yet,” Daenerys said from behind her. “I’ll have my maids dress you in one of my old gowns. You shouldn’t put your dirty clothes back on. I’m sure I have something that’ll fit you.” 

 

Daenerys left. When Sansa turned back around she realized that Daenerys had taken her dress and cloak with her. Alone, she felt suddenly exposed by her nakedness. Her hands were shaking by the time the maids returned. They dressed her in a thin silk gown, not like anything Sansa had ever seen worn, not even during the height of summer in King’s Landing. They did not offer her a corset or a shift, nor any jewelry. When Sansa caught sight of herself in the looking glass, she knew what the Queen’s intention had been. Sansa did not look very noble. No, she did not doubt that she was meant to look like Jon’s whore. 

 

Sansa grated her teeth together, but she did not protest. She knew enough about life at court to know that everything she said would be reported back by the maids. Instead she held her head high as she was led through the castle to Jon’s chambers. She felt the eyes of the entire court upon her as she did, the gazes half lecherous and half pitying. 

 

Jon was taken aback when she was presented to him in his private dining room. He was surrounded by advisors and guards. Jon immediately took off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pulled her close and brushed his lips against her forehead. 

 

“I want to go home,” Sansa whispered into his ear.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back.


	10. Jon

Jon did not have long to ruminate on what had happened before his friends and loyal advisors joined him in his solar. Tormund and Edd came together first. Edd’s eyebrows were furrowed together in exasperation, but Tormund took the opportunity to pull Jon into a big bear hug. “What a wonderful life that you get to take two wives,” Tormund said with a laugh, slapping Jon on the ass. “I can’t say I understand why you keep marrying your kin, but I won’t hold it against you. Maybe if my sister looked like that I’d turn my head too.”

 

“Thank you,” Jon said, smiling at the distraction the wildling always seemed to bring. He didn’t dare ask Edd what was on his mind, but as always Edd told him anyway.

 

“I’ve decided to stay on in King’s Landing. Better to die from dragon fire than starvation. I never thought I’d get it that good, really.”

 

Jon’s smile faded as he sat back down. 

 

Soon Sam joined them, entering Jon’s solar with wide eyes and a solemn expression on his face. Ser Davos followed him, looking as tired as Jon felt. He had never supported his marriage to Daenerys, and had long likened Daenerys to Melisandre, the red witch who Davos had executed during the war for burning a princess alive. Once the others had been defeated, all of his men had become wary of Daenerys’ dragons, though they had come to accept the marriage as a necessary evil.

 

They took their regular seats around the long table in Jon’s solar that they often worked at. Though Jon did occasionally attend the meetings of the Small Council, he did not trust those on it, especially not now. These were his old friends, who he trusted more than those he’d made an uneasy peace with after the war. 

 

It was not a complete surprise when the kingslayer joined them either. Jon would never stoop to calling the man his friend, but he did not doubt his loyalty. Jaime Lannister was ostensibly the Lord of Casterly Rock, though he had spent the years since the war as a court hostage. Daenerys still wanted to feed the man to her dragons, and Jaime claimed that he had accepted that this would be his eventual fate long ago. But Jon had forced Daenerys’ hand in the weeks prior to their wedding. He did not want more war. He was as exhausted as the people of the realm, and the land could not take another war. Food was hard enough to find as it was. Keeping Jaime as a hostage kept the westerlands in check. Many still held the Lannisters in high esteem, even after everything they had put the realm through. 

 

“King Crow,” Jaime said, ironically bending into a bow when he came before Jon.

 

“At ease kingslayer,” Jon responded, gesturing for Jaime to take his regular seat beside Tormund Giantsbane.

 

The friendship that had been struck up between Jaime Lannister and the wildling took everybody by surprise. It was perhaps the oddest thing to have come out of the war for the dawn. The two of them had lead armies together, and according to Tormund had often huddled together for warmth. Tormund had also found the man’s well known perversions to be good for a laugh. As always, Tormund could not resist the temptation of grabbing Jaime’s golden hand and slapping the man with it, bursting into a raucous laughter when he saw the man get hit by his own hand. Why Jaime allowed the game to go on was a mystery to everyone, but Jon could not pretend he didn’t enjoy watching it. 

 

“Jon, why didn’t you write to me?” Sam asked, ignoring the silliness completely. “I should have known. I didn’t really believe you’d do something so stupid.”

 

“You didn’t believe Jon would do something stupid?” Edd Tollett asked incredulously. Jon sent him a look.

 

“I thought it would be better to tell Daenerys in person,” Jon explained, for what felt like the thousandth time. “I didn’t think she’d react so strongly. What with Lady Tyrell.”

 

Tormund laughed at the reference to Daenerys and Margaery’s affair. But Jon wondered if the whole thing was truly so lighthearted anymore. After all, he was fairly certain Daenerys still intended for the two of them to breed the girl once he’d thrown Sansa over. 

 

“It was ill advised. But it’s done,” Ser Davos said, ever the pragmatist. “The question is what we should do now. We need a plan of action, Your Grace.”

 

Jon nodded in agreement. 

 

There was a knock on the door, and a guard announced Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch. She was the daughter of Ned Stark’s lifelong friend Howland Reed, and the girl who had sacrificed so much for Bran’s sake, only to be the one to bring Jon the news of his death. 

 

Meera smiled earnestly, “I see I wasn’t the only one thinking you’d need counsel.”

 

“No, you’re in good company there,” Jon admitted, “please sit. I think I could use a woman’s wisdom.”

 

Meera sat at the end of the table. “I’m afraid we’re not all the same, Your Grace. I don’t really know Lady — Queen Sansa.”

 

_ Neither do I _ , Jon thought. Because even though they’d spent a month in each other’s company by now, and had spent their childhoods together in Winterfell, his wife was still a stranger to him. He wished Arya was here, but nobody had heard from her in many years, and she was presumed dead by most. 

 

“Still, I think you’d know better than this lot.”

 

“Why did you do it?” Sam asked, interrupting them. He had clearly had enough of this nonsense and wanted to get to the bottom of his oldest friend’s insanity, but Jon didn’t have any answer that really explained it all. 

 

“Love,” he admitted, deciding to tell the truth.

 

At that Jaime laughed. He shook his head with a smile.

 

“Do you have something to say, kingslayer?” Jon asked, annoyed. 

 

“Nothing,” Jaime replied, the twinkle of amusement still in his eye, though he made an effort to wipe the grin off his face. “Love’s the most dangerous reason of all.”

 

At that Davos nodded, clearly annoyed another red headed beauty had bewitched the King he was sworn to. Jon saw the irony of it all, and he knew enough to know that Jaime too was comparing the situation to his own lifelong affair with his twin sister. Jon would not attempt to convince his advisors that this was different than that. That this was true and good. He knew deep in his heart that there was nothing wrong with what he and Sansa had done. 

 

“Did you truly marry in the godswood?” Sam asked. 

 

“We did,” Jon said.

 

Tormund whispered something to Jaime about Jon taking Sansa against the tree, and Jon could only sigh. It wasn’t that far from the truth.

 

“You didn’t say any vows in the sept?”

 

“No,” Jon said, “I meant to, but Sansa said the Old Gods were the only true gods.”

 

“‘Tis true,” Tormund agreed, “these septs are rather creepy as well. I don’t like the singing they do, or the weird coloured glass. It’s all so wrong. Give me a tree any day.”

 

“I can’t disagree with you, but my subjects do.”

 

“It’s enough to make them side with Daenerys, I think. That and the dragons,” Sam said, frowning. He closed his eyes, clearly trying to rack his brain for an answer to the situation Jon had put them all in. 

 

“For a man who doesn’t want a war, you seem awfully determined to throw the realm into one,” Jaime remarked. 

 

“I wasn’t thinking,” Jon admitted.

 

“Not with your head, at least,” Tormund said. “I think you should —”

 

“Head back North,” Edd cut him off, rolling his eyes. This was always Tormund’s advice when a crisis came up. Deep down, Jon had always agreed with Tormund. He missed the North. He wanted to rebuild Winterfell and see what remained of the homeland he hadn’t seen in so many years. But things weren’t that easy. He had other obligations now. 

 

“Maybe you should,” Meera cut in. “Head back North I mean. And maybe not all the way to Winterfell… it’s in bad shape. But maybe to Riverrun. Queen Sansa should, at the very least. I could take her. She’d be out of the way there, and Lord Edmure would be happy to receive her.”

 

Davos nodded, smiling softly at Meera, who was one of his favourites at court. “I think that’s a good idea. Until Daenerys cools down, at least.”

 

Jon closed his eyes. He thought on it for a moment, then shook his head. “I won’t be parted from her. She’s safer with me.”

 

“She’s safer far away from you, and you know it,” the kingslayer said. “I’ll go with Lady Reed and a few hundred guards.”

 

“You forget you’re a hostage,” Jon said, “besides… putting all of Daenerys’ enemy in one castle hardly makes them safe.”

 

It was rare that Jon spoke so practically about his wife, who had taken to setting things on fire long before he met her. Rare enough for the room to become silent. A moment passed before there was another knock on the door. Jon looked up at the Princess Arianne of Dorne as the guard announced her. 

 

“I was just with your new bride,” she said, strolling over to take the last seat. “She’s quite alright, you needn’t worry. Perhaps a bit… embarrassed, but safe. For now.”

 

“For now,” Jon repeated, the anger in his voice palpable. 

 

Jon had never thought he hated Daenerys before. He had never even truly resented her. She did not love him, but he did not love her either. She had a fierce temper, but she could be kind too. She was helping him bind the realm together. He couldn’t have done all of this on his own. And yet now she was threatening the one person who did love him, and who he loved too. This made his blood boil. He wasn’t sure all of this was worth it if it put the woman he loved in danger.

 

“Tell me, Sam. Is there any way out of my marriage to Daenerys?” Jon asked.

 

The room went still again. Every pair of eyes in the room studied Jon.

 

Sam bit his lip, considering the question. “Technically yes. Your own father threw his legally wed wife over as well, so there’s precedent for it. But… I wouldn’t say that’s wise. I think it would be much better to make peace with both of your wives. You’ve gotten Daenerys to agree to a lot of things you never thought she would.”

 

“She won’t agree to this,” Jaime said. Jon knew he was right.

 

“I can’t… I can’t abide her. Perhaps if I gave her the seven kingdoms, she’d go more easily. I’m not suited to being a king anyway.”

 

“You may not be suited to being king, but leaving Queen Daenerys in charge with nobody to watch over her would be the end of the realm,” Davos said, conviction replacing the weariness in his voice. There was general agreement to that sentiment.

 

“The fifty thousands swords of Dorne are behind you, Your Grace,” Arianne said, “I don’t think it will remain secret for long. I called my banners a week ago.”

 

Only a moon’s turn ago, this would have filled Jon with dread, but now he merely nodded. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

 

“Ser Jaime, how many fighting men are left in the Westerlands?” Ser Davos asked. 

 

“The Lannister army was twenty thousand strong two years ago. But, after the famine, I’d be surprised if you could get ten thousand in good enough condition to put up much of a fight.”

 

There was another knock on the door, and the guard opened it. This time it was Sansa, clad in what must be a dressing gown. Jon set his jaw as he looked at her, knowing now that war was imminent. He would not let Daenerys get away with this. Jon would not disavow his wife, and he knew Sansa would never be safe while Daenerys’ dragons lived and her armies followed her. Sansa had been right all along. Any of the trust he had in Daenerys that remained broke now. Immediately, Jon took off his cloak and draped it over Sansa’s shoulders to hide her from any more prying eyes. 

 

Sansa threw herself into his arms. Jon pulled her close. “I want to go home,” Sansa whispered in his ear, so quietly nobody else could hear it.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, his heart hurting, hating himself for ever putting her in this position.

 

To that, Sansa said nothing. She loosened her grip on him and pulled away. Jon watched as Sansa looked over everyone at the table. 

 

“My wife, Queen Sansa,” Jon introduced her to the crowd. “And these are my advisors. You can trust them, my lady. Tormund Giantsbane of the wildlings, Edd Tollett, Ser Davos of Storm’s End, hand of the King Samwell Tarly, Princess Arianne of Dorne, Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch, and Jaime Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

 

Sansa curtsied. “It’s my pleasure to meet those of you who are new to me, and to see those of you I know again. Jon has told me of some of you on our journey from the Eyrie, and I hope we can work together to ship food from the Vale to the needy people of the realm.”

 

Jon was in awe of her once again. He hadn’t spoken of these people much on their journey. They’d rarely spoken of such things when they were in bed, and bed was where they had spent most of their journey once they reached their ship. Jon had appreciated the break from the pressures of King’s Landing. His heart filled with pride that his wife was focused more on the diplomatic problems with Littlefinger than spite towards Daenerys. If the roles of his two queens had been reversed, Daenerys would have stormed in demanding to rain down fire and blood on the person who had marched her through the castle so scantily clad with the intention of shaming her. He did not deserve such a wife. 

 

“Leave us, please,” Jon said to his advisors. “Return in an hour, and have dinner brought with you. And have a maid bring one of Queen Sansa’s dresses from her trunks.”

 

Once the room emptied and the door was closed, Jon sat back down at his desk. He pulled Sansa down onto his lap. She came eagerly, somehow smiling despite all of this. “Is this another one of your twisted fantasies, My King?” Sansa asked, surprisingly lighthearted.

 

“To have you on my desk? I don’t think I can deny that. But gods, not now.”

 

“Why not now?” Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t mean to marry me off to some man of Daenerys’ choosing, do you? Have you tired of me already, Jon?”

 

“Of course not. Don’t you want to talk about what happened?”

 

“It was dreadful, Jon, but I’m here with you now. I could use some comforting.”

 

Sansa stood up and pushed his cloak off of her shoulders and exposed the thin silken dress Daenerys had dressed her in. “I won’t abide her cruelty,” Jon noted, though now that they were alone he couldn’t help but admire Sansa’s form. The dress was so thin you could see Sansa’s pink nipples through it, and the wisp of dark hair between her legs. Possessive anger took over him. That half of the court saw his bride in such a state of undress would not do. Jon wrapped his hands around her waist, and pulled her back to him. He brought his mouth to her breasts, and took a hard nipple in his mouth through the thin fabric. Sansa moaned as he sucked on her. He grazed his teeth against her nipples and sucked harder and she gasped.

 

“Oh Jon,” Sansa said, running her own hands through his hair. 

 

Jon pulled away and looked up at her. “This was an act of war,” he said. His hands drifted down to the hem of her thin dress and pulled it up over her head. She didn’t belong in Daenerys’ dress. Nothing of Daenerys’ would ever touch Sansa again.

 

“Haven’t you had enough war?” Sansa asked.

 

Jon pulled her into his lap again. He was fully awake now. Daenerys wasn’t the only Targaryen, and Jon too wanted fire and blood almost as much as he wanted his wife. He buried his face between her breasts, revelling in the fact that she was all his. “It’s my job to keep you safe,” he said. He wrapped his lips around her other nipple, giving it the same torturous treatment. “You’re mine now,” he said when he pulled away, and Sansa moaned at that, rutting into him. 

 

“All yours,” Sansa said, echoing him. 

 

Jon lifted her into his desk and fell to his knees. She laid back as he buried his head between her legs. It was an urgent need, and it did not take long for Sansa to come. Jon watched her chest heave as she came down while he unlaced his breeches. He thrust inside of her and took her there on his desk. It was rougher than usual, an act of possession. 

 

Jon was still thrusting into his wife when two maids entered with Sansa’s dress. Sansa did not seem to care, her legs were still wrapped around him and beckoning him to come closer. 

 

“Wait,” Sansa said to the maids when they moved to leave. They did, their eyes averted, though there was no way they could miss their heavy breathing or Sansa’s loud moaning. Daenerys was sure to hear about this, and the thought only made Jon more aroused. There was no doubt in his mind that was why Sansa wanted the maids to witness this.

 

Finally Jon spilled his seed inside Sansa. He pulled away and laced up his breeches again. He sat back down on the chair, exhausted. His eyes remained on Sansa’s naked body as she laid back on his desk. The sight of his seed in her cunt always pleased him. Finally she stood up and turned to the maids. They made quick work, cleaning her and outfitting her in her own corset and dress.  

 

When she looked every inch the queen she was, she took her place at Jon’s side. A few minutes later his advisors returned with dinner. Together they eat and planned for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t beleive my outline is halfway done! Hope you’re all still enjoying this <3


	11. Margaery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have asked about Margaery in the comments... hopefully this chapter gives you some insight into her character in this fic.

Margaery had been ill at ease since she’d heard word of Jon taking a second wife. At first Dany had denied the possibility, but Margaery had wondered. Though she’d had time to worry, everything that had occurred this morning had taken her by surprise. Margaery was used to scheming and politicking taking place behind closed doors, machinations thought up months in advance and cleverly hidden from plain sight. They ought to be thinking of what to do together, and yet Dany had acted without consulting her. It pained her that somebody who claimed to love her refused to take her counsel. 

 

“That was badly done,” Margaery said. She was sitting on Dany’s bed and had been since Dany dismissed her. “I hope you didn’t do anything else to her.”

 

“And what if I did?”

 

Margaery merely sighed. “You’re making things more difficult than they need to be, my love.”

 

Dany huffed. “I’m not the one who brought home a replacement for Jon.”

 

“No, but you do have me. And I replace… some things Jon does for you, don’t I?” switching gears, Margaery raised an eyebrow at Daenerys and smirked. She did not often like being told what to do, at least not while their clothes were still on. Once they came off, Daenerys liked nothing more than to submit to Margaery’s will. 

 

“You do,” Daenerys said, her gaze softening as Margaery grabbed her hand. Margaery wound their fingers together and gave Dany a tug, so she was sitting in Margaery’s lap. Daenerys responded best to flatteries and sweetness, and Margaery knew that would be the only way she could move her. Margaery’s lips ran against Dany’s neck, and she played with the bottom of Dany’s long silver hair. “I want her gone,” Dany said.

 

Margaery fought a sigh, lucky that Dany couldn’t see her roll her eyes. 

 

When Margaery had first taken Dany as a lover, she had expected that it would be as much of a chore as any marriage match her family would have made her. Margaery had never particularly looked forward to marriage. She had always been a pawn in her father’s quest for power. She had wanted to be Queen, once, and she’d been good at it, better than Daenerys or Cersei ever had been. But she had long since realized that Queens held no true influence, not so long as they submitted to a King. Margaery had realized that she was not a creature who had been built to submit to another.

 

But to her surprise and delight, Daenerys never asked Margaery to submit to her. In their bedroom, far from prying eyes, it was Daenerys who wanted Margaery to dominate her. 

 

Over time, Margaery had fallen in love with Daenerys. Outside of the bedroom, the Targaryen Queen was powerful, and Margaery enjoyed riding Drogon with Dany almost as much as she enjoyed watching Daenerys dispense justice as she sat on the Irone Throne. And in the Queen’s chambers, Margaery had learned what it was truly like to feel sexually empowered. Daenerys had presented her with a golden phallus, a miraculous device from the Far East. It had two ends, a smaller one that fit into her cunt, and a longer one that stuck out, for her to fuck the Queen with. As she did, the pressure from the thrusts would move inside her, and she had to keep her cunt tight. They often came together like that. She could have Daenerys any way she wanted. Margaery would fuck her mouth, her cunt, her ass. She could hit the queen too, sometimes so hard she drew blood, often vigorously enough for her to see Dany shift uncomfortably on the Iron Throne the next day. 

 

“Perhaps what you really want is to bring her into our bed,” Margaery said, fisting Dany’s long silver hair and pulling on it hard. “Isn’t that what you want with Jon? And I saw the way you were looking at her in the tub. Do  _ I  _ need to be jealous, Daenerys?”

 

“No,” Daenerys said with a gasp, the tension in her body releasing as Margaery used her angry voice.

 

“Maybe you want to be her bitch and not mine.”

 

“No, I belong to you,” Dany said.

 

A game of submission was the easiest way to take Daenerys’ mind off of anything, and Margaery played now for Dany’s own good. She didn’t want the woman she loved to keep messing things up by meddling. Nothing good was going to come out of any of this. 

 

“Prove it,” Margaery said.

 

Dany nodded and moved off of Margaery’s lap, moving to the floor and sitting on her knees. Margaery smirked at the sight of it, feeling herself grow wet at the sight of the world’s most powerful woman kneeling before her. Margaery took her time unlacing her loose gown and undressing before Daenerys, who watched her hungrily from the floor. 

 

Daenerys had appetites that were difficult for one person to satiate, and they often took others into their bed. All of them were amazed by the sight of it. Daario, Daenerys’ lover she left behind in Essos, had never seen anything like it. Margaery thought of it now with a smile. Margaery had fucked Dany in the ass while she sucked Daario’s cock, at first, but when that wasn’t enough for Dany, she had stood between them as Daario fucked her in the cunt and Margaery continued to pound into her ass. After Daario had gone home to Mereen, Dany’s desire to be double penetrated had not abated, so often Ser Jorah, Lord Commander of the Queensgaurd, was brought to Dany’s room and they would fuck the Queen together.

 

At the end of a long day of being Queen, becoming merely an object relaxed Daenerys, or so Dany said, when Margaery asked why she was so eager to be fucked hard, and spanked, or even sometimes flogged and whipped.

 

Margaery’s golden cock was waiting for her on the bedside table. She ran her thumb across her clit and pushed her fingers into her cunt to make sure she was wet enough. Then she pushed the phallus into place. She liked the way she looked while she seared it, and she glanced in the looking glass before walking over to Daenerys. Margaery grabbed Dany’s hair and roughly brought her head to the golden cock. By now, Dany was an expert, and she took Margaery into her mouth, sucking as eagerly as if it were real. Margaery was a greedy mistress, and she enjoyed watching Daenerys on her knees and eager to please. She enjoyed it so much often Daenerys would fellate her for half an hour. Once Ser Jorah had watched them once like that, all the while knowing Daenerys would never suck his cock.

 

But today Margaery only let Dany suck her enough to lube up her cock. “Get on the bed,” Margaery commanded. 

 

Margaery gathered Dany’s dress around her waist. Dany wasn’t wearing anything underneath, but then, she never did. Margaery ran her finger across Dany’s cunt, finding her warm and wet. “Did humiliating Sansa Stark turn you on?” she asked, not sure if she was disturbed or amused.

 

“Yes —” Dany choked out before Margaery slapped her ass and pushed the golden cock into her. Margaery wasn’t pleased with Dany’s answer, so she wrapped her hands around Dany’s neck as she fucked her. 

 

“We aren’t going to do anything to Sansa Stark,” Margaery whispered into Dany’s ear as she thrust into the Queen. Dany protested, but Margaery gave her throat a squeeze. “She’s not important. You’re the true queen, but if you seem to doubt that, the realm will follow. Simply don’t acknowledge her existence, that’s better than an open challenge. Don’t let anyone see her as worthy of being considered your competitor. 

 

Margaery released Dany’s throat hoping for an answer, but all Dany did was moan as she thrust her hips back into the golden cock. Margaery smacked her ass again, and then fingered Dany’s cut roughly. Soon she was coming, and then she slid out of bed. Daenerys made no move to please Margaery. She never did. Margaery got to feel in control of it all, but if she wanted to come her own fingers had to suffice. Daenerys was her pliant submissive, but sometimes it felt almost as though she was merely performing a service for the Queen, and that there was nothing of substance in Daenerys’ submission. As soon as they got out of bed, it became clear who truly held the reigns in the relationship. After all, Margaery was still Dany’s hostage...

 

“Promise me you won’t do anything reckless,” Margaery said before Dany walked away. But Daenerys didn’t say anything to put her mind at ease. 

  
  
  


Margaery did not bother to change. The smell of sex was often her best protection. The Tyrells had many enemies left in the Red Keep, and that Margaery entertained the Queen in the bedroom made her untouchable. The power of Highgarden may have waned, but nobody wanted their keeps to be put to the flames. The people of Westeros feared Daenerys Targaryen, and with good reason. She was the most powerful person in the world, she had two dragons, and she didn’t compromise. 

 

Before Margaery had charmed her way into Daenerys’ bed, her and her grandmother, the Lady Olenna Tyrell, had done their research on the queen. Her grandmother had told her stories of Daenerys’ sexual exploits that had made Margaery blush. The tales told by her followers told of a Queen who was good and righteous and only ever wanted to do the right thing. But by the time Margaery had offered herself up, Daenerys had become something else entirely. She was harder, and she wanted to very much. Sometimes Margaery saw some of that girl in Dany still, but that was rare. Still, Dany still thought of herself as this underdog, somebody who was struggling to do right by the Seven Kingdoms and by her dead family. It was the easiest to convince Daenerys to do something when Margaery appealed to that girl Dany still thought she was. 

 

Margaery had a suite of rooms in the maidenvault with her grandmother, Lady Olenna, and two of her female cousins who remained unscathed from the Wars. She rarely slept in those rooms, instead spending her nights servicing the Queen, but it was necessary to keep up appearances, or so Dany said. Margaery could not bring herself to mind. She had slept here when she was Joffrey’s betrothed and Tommen’s Queen. For Margaery, little had changed over the past years. She visited the rooms often, as her grandmother and cousins were the only people who did not look at her with menacing, untrustworthy eyes in the Keep. They had proven their loyalty to her. Her cousin Megga particularly, who had spent weeks with her skirts gathered around her waist so Margaery could practice the art of pleasing a woman as Chataya the madame watched on and instructed her, telling her how to move her hands and where to run her tongue. 

 

“My dear,” Lady Olenna said, getting up to hug Margaery when she came in. Margaery relaxed a bit in her grandmother’s arms. “Why do you look so glum?”

 

Margaery shrugged, and smiled sheepishly. “I’m worried, is all.”

 

The two of them sat down. Her grandmother’s handmaiden went off to fetch them refreshments. “What has you so worried? The Stark girl?” Olenna asked, taking advantage of the two of them being alone, with no prying ears eager for court gossip from the Queen’s lover. 

 

“A little bit, maybe. But it’s not Sansa I’m worried about.”

 

“No, not Sansa. She can be dealt with easily. We both know that… it’s the same as it always has been, not the Stark girl, but what some man is willing to do to have her,” Olenna laughed.

 

“I’m afraid that Daenerys is going to be her own worst enemy. She just made Sansa walk through the castle half naked. She’s so jealous, even though she has me…”

 

“She’s never tried to raise you as a Queen, my love. That’s the difference. It’s not jealousy, it’s fear of Sansa Stark. If she has Jon’s heart, and she has the people’s too, well, then what does Daenerys Targaryen have?”

 

At first Margaery thought that there was an answer she didn’t know, but a minute of silence passed before she realized the truth. “Daenerys is going to lose, isn’t she?” Margaery said, sorrow in her voice. 

 

“We backed the wrong horse, I’m afraid,” Olenna said. “You’d do well to rekindle that friendship of yours with Sansa. In a few months there won’t be anything left Daenerys can do for you.”

 

“We can’t betray Daenerys, grandmother! It’s stupid! She would have our heads if she could, we would be fed to her dragons.”

 

“Of all the ways to go, getting eaten by a dragon is rather interesting, or at least I think so. Most death is just sad. There’s no good story to it. But people tell stories of the grandmother the mad queen fed to her dragons. In my own way, I’d be immortal.”

 

“Grandmother!” Margaery protested, well aware that nothing she said could ever stop her grandmother from doing anything. Then she sighed, “surely, you must see, that it’s different this time. I do love Daenerys. I don’t want everything to fall apart so the Tyrells can be one step closer to the crown. I’m tired of these machinations. I don’t want to betray her — I won’t. I won’t pretend that I think you’re listening to me and will stand down, but don’t involve me in any of your schemes this time, please!”

  
  



	12. Sansa

Sansa had fallen asleep with her limbs tangled with Jon’s, but in the morning she woke alone. Nobody bothered to wake her, and she’d had her first good night’s sleep since she had gotten on the boat weeks ago. It was good to have solid ground beneath her as she slept. She got out of bed and found a dressing gown that had been set out for her. 

 

She’d lived in the Red Keep before, but she’d never been inside the king’s chambers in the full light of day. In the setting sun she hadn’t gotten a good look at Jon’s rooms. She’d been distracted by the seduction she’d been planning, and then by christening Jon’s featherbed. The room itself was large and airy. Their discarded clothes were still strewn around the room, but other than that the room was clean and largely empty. The window was slightly ajar and a fresh breeze streamed in, rustling silken drapery. Both the curtains that hung from the windows and on the bed’s were dark black and emblazoned with the three headed dragon that was the sigil of House Targaryen. In her haste the night before, Sansa hadn’t realized she was making love under her rival’s sigil, and in the cold light of day she couldn’t decide if she should feel smug or annoyed. 

 

She opened one of the two doors off of the bedroom and found it opened to a dressing room. To her immense pleasure, her things had already been unpacked into the shelves and hooks beside Jon’s clothes. The room was immense, and her things seemed to take up most of it, leaving only a corner for Jon’s things. She was positive that none of Jon’s things had taken out of the room, and that her king was merely more modest in his apparel than King Joffrey or Littlefinger had been. She laughed as she walked towards a grey velvet dress that had been set out for her, running her hands along the fabric. Littlefinger had it made for her, of course, but she’d given the instructions to the dressmaker. It was her most Stark-like dress, and she wondered if Jon had chosen it for her to wear. He’d certainly seemed to respond to it on the occasions she’d worn it.

 

Unable to dress without help, Sansa walked back into the bedchambers and towards the door. She poked her head out and found Jaime Lannister and the large wildling man Jon had introduced to her as Tormund Giantsbane standing guard. Sansa was still not used to the fact that a Lannister was meant to be on their side, but when she’d asked Jon about it the night before, he’d told her that it was time to put their old grudges aside, and that Jaime Lannister had sworn a vow to protect her. 

 

“She’s awake,” Tormund said when he saw Sansa, straightening his posture and giving her a smile that was probably meant to appear friendly, but came across rather menacing. 

 

Jaime Lannister nodded his head to her, “your Grace,” he said. Once Sansa had thought the man to be handsome and valiant. But then that was before she knew he was Joffrey’s father, and before he had maimed her father in the street. Now she was only reminded of Joffrey, and besides, she now found she preferred the Northern look to a pretty face. “Did you need help dressing?”

 

That did not go over well with the giant wildling. “Keep your hands off of Jon Snow’s woman,” he said, shaking his head and baring his teeth.

 

Jaime let out a beleaguered sigh. “I’ll fetch your ladies,” he said.

 

Sansa went back to her room without asking who her ladies were meant to be. So long as they could lace a corset it didn’t matter if they were in Daenerys’ camp or hers anyway. The castle had already seen her in a state of undress, there was little new information that any spies could glean from her naked body.

 

In the grand stone fireplace, there was still a fire burning low, though it was barely necessary with the beginning of Spring in King’s Landing. Sansa stared at it for a moment as an idea took root. She did not have to think about it long. She walked to the window and pulled at the curtains until the fine silk tore. She gathered it all up in her arms and dropped them into the fire. The fire rose around the curtains as Sansa watched them burn. For a moment she understood why Daenerys was so keen to burn everyone and everything to the ground. There was a certain satisfaction of seeing one’s enemies go up in flames — though in Sansa’s case, her enemies were merely curtains. She did the same with the bed’s canopy, tearing it off and unloading it on onto the funeral pyre Sansa had built in Jon’s bedroom. 

 

Meera Reed walked in just in time to see the three headed dragon be turned to ash. beside her stood another girl, this one slightly less put together though more girlish. “King Jon has sent us to be your handmaidens until he can find some with tested loyalties,” Meera told Sansa, more or less ignoring the dramatic act of defiance going on in front of her. “We’re not… perhaps the best trained in helping a lady dress, but we’re loyal to House Stark, and I think we could figure it out.”

 

“I’m Gilly,” said the other girl, “you’ve met my Sam.”

 

Sansa nodded. “Jon has told me all about you… and the brave sacrifice you made to keep Mance Rayder’s baby safe.”

 

Gilly smiled, but Sansa could tell she’d touched a nerve, she wondered if there was more to that story than Jon was letting on.  “I have two letters for you, Your Grace,” Gilly continued, extending her hand to show a raven’s scroll and an envelope. Sansa took them both.

 

“I was hoping to wear the Grey dress, but you need a corset for that, and there’s a lot of layers —”

 

“We can manage,” Meera said, “I’ve managed far worse than this, believe me.” Sansa laughed as Meera and Gilly walked into the dressing room. She heard a noticeable gasp, but these two girls had enough grit to pull off daywear for their queen, Sansa had their full confidence. 

 

Sansa opened the letters. On the ravens’ scroll, there was on a single sentence written  in Littlefinger’s familiar script.  _ You have exceeded my wildest expectations _ . Sansa threw it into the fire before along with the Targaryen drapery. Watching the parchment burn made her feel lighter, but the relief quickly faded. How had she forgotten about Littlefinger? Had she truly thought she was free of him? The man had been a shadow hanging over her for years now, she couldn’t have possibly been so naive. 

 

Sansa had grown numb to a lot of things, but it still rankled her that Petyr thought her marriage to Jon had been for him. True, he had suggested the pairing, and done his best to send her to the king’s bed, but she had fallen for Jon truly… hadn’t she? She was losing track of it all now. She couldn’t remember when she had started to feel something for Jon. Had it been before their wedding, or later, when the two of them were abed? 

 

She would need to reply to Petyr. Eventually, at least, lest he turn up in King’s Landing to get what he thought he deserved out of her. Things were tenuous enough as it was. 

 

The other letter was tucked into an envelope. It was from Princess Arianne, who she’d met the night before, inviting her to take lunch with her in her rooms. Sansa walked into the dressing room where Gilly and Meera were struggling with the grey dress, and passed Gilly the letter. “Princess Arianne has invited me and my household to lunch. Can you tell her we will attend?”

 

Meera laughed. “It’ll be well past lunch by the time we have you dressed, Your Grace. It was almost noon when we were fetched.”

 

Sansa blushed. Had she really slept that long? They had been aboard that ship for so long, and all they’d had to do was each other… being on land with responsibilities other than lovemaking would take some getting used to. 

 

“King Jon said you need to have your head measured too,” Gilly piped in.

 

“My head measured?”

 

“So the blacksmith can make you a crown.”

 

That probably wasn’t a good idea. Sansa wondered if Jon knew what he was doing. He had seemed to underestimate Daenerys’ wrath at every turn. Jon’s other wife was like a hornet, and they had kicked it’s nest. “Alright,” she said, not wanting to question anything. She was still reticent to criticize Jon. It hadn’t been so long ago that Jon hadn’t trusted her at all, and it was so hard to understand what was going on in his head. She wasn’t even sure why he had asked her to marry him. “But perhaps the Princess will see me after that?” Gilly went to give Sansa’s message to the guards at the door and returned to help Meera with Sansa’s dress. 

 

“They look kind of… scary,” Gilly said. “How do you breathe?”

 

“You don’t,” Meera said. “That’s why I don’t wear them. They’re not the custom where I’m from… but I know how to tie a knot.”

 

Meera was surprisingly good at helping Sansa dress given how modest her own garb was, but Gilly was about as well-versed in corsets and petticoats as one could expect from a wildling. When they were done, Sansa thanked them both. She wore her hair down since she was to have her head measured, but she ran lavender and rosemary oil through her hair so it would lay straight and shine.

 

“What’s that?” Gilly asked, her nose twitching.

 

“Perfume,” Sansa answered. “Do you want to try it?” Gilly nodded and Sansa poured some into Gilly’s hands and Gilly ran it through her own hair. Gilly held her hair up to her nose to inhale the scent. “You can keep it if you want.”

 

“I couldn’t.” 

 

“You can, and you will. Ihave no special attachment to the bottle, there will be others in King’s Landing.” Maybe some with better memories attached. Jon was very frugal, but he had come alive the past weeks. She wondered if she asked for perfume if he would pick one out for her. That sounded romantic, if gratuitous for the time they lived in where famine was a constant worry. Sansa turned to Meera, “and I think you deserve a larger gift still. To show my gratitude, that you were there for Bran at the end, and that you’re here for me now. But I wouldn’t even know where to start there, Lady Meera. How can one repay such a debt? Tell me, is there a favour I can grant you?”

 

“You shouldn’t feel in my debt, Your Grace. It was my honour to take Brandon Stark beyond the wall.”

 

“You were fulfilling your duty to your leige lord,” Sansa agreed, “but you went so far past what duty demanded. You sacrificed so much. As the last remnant of House Stark it is my duty to thank you for leal service. And, of course, for helping a pariah at court get dressed.”

 

“I’m not sure pariah is the right word, your grace,” Lady Meera Reed said, smiling sweetly. “I’m sure this castle is full of people eager to be the new Queen’s handmaidens. The only problem is finding somebody we can trust. I can help you as best I can, but I’m not meant to be a lady in waiting.”

 

“You can tie a corset and that’s about all I need. I like to brush my own hair now.” She hadn’t had a maid in the Eyrie while she was still pretending to be Alayne Stone, so she’d gotten used to taking care of herself. The only person who had brushed her hair and tended to her like that for a long time who had been Petyr, who liked to help her put on the dresses he’d had made for her. 

 

After Sansa’s head was measured and the order was sent of to the smithy, there was a knock on the door and the Princess Arianne Martell was introduced. She wore a gold dress that was clearly meant for summer. So much skin was exposed she wondered how Arianne wasn’t freezing even with the King’s Landing weather, but she held her head high and wore the gown, which was as thin as the one Daenerys had dressed Sansa in the day before, with pride. 

 

“I like your dress,” Sansa said, after Arianne had bowed and said her courtesies.

 

Arianne smirked. “Do you? You’re the inspiration, you must know.”

 

Sansa shook her head dubiously, “it’s not really —”

 

“You’ll get used to having imitators,” Arianne said, cutting Sansa off, and placing a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “You’re the Queen now, you’re young and beautiful, by next week the entire court will be following your lead.”

 

Sansa couldn’t help but smile, immediately warmed to Arianne, even more than the day before when she had been last night when she’d been stripped bare on Daenerys’ orders. Sansa was well-versed enough in the ways of courtly life to know that Arianne was not being kind merely out of the goodness of her heart. People never were. Arianne was trying to charm her, but despite how jaded she’d become, Sansa was charmed. “I thought I would come to you,” Sansa said.

 

“I’ve never seen the King’s chambers, and I must admit I was interested. It’s much more threadbare than I’d thought, but knowing Jon…”

 

Sansa looked away shyly. “I burned the curtains.”

 

Arianne raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”

 

Sansa nodded. “I think I’m going to be doing some redecorating. So, was there something you wanted to see me about?”

 

“Oh. Yes.”

 

Sansa gestured Arianne to the settees that stood before the window. Noticing the hardness of Arianne’s nipples through the nearly sheer dress, Sansa closed the window and latched it before sitting down yourself. “I must admit, I’m not the one to come to with war councils. I know very little of the strategy.”

 

“You’re too humble, my queen. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you married our king. I’ve been reticent to put my cards on the table for any of the emerging factions. Even your husband, Jon Snow… I don’t want what he wants, I know what I want, though, and I think you know what you want. It’s not the unification of the seven kingdoms under Targaryen rule. Dorne accepted him, but he was a stopgap. I think you and I can build a truly beneficial alliance, Sansa. An alliance that can pass the test of time.”

 

“Why do you think that?” Sansa asked, somewhat taken aback. She was used to people using her position to get something out of her, but she was not used to people being so blunt. People have pretended to be her friend before, but even Petyr had danced around what he wanted until the end. 

 

“I want to give you what your brother — what Robb Stark — died fighting for, and I want to take back my kingdom for myself as well. There is no need for an Iron Throne, is there? Unless you’ve married Jon wanting to be a good, godly queen who submits to her King. Only, I’ve met you, and I think you want more.”

 

Sansa wasn’t sure if she was ready to play her hand. “I married Jon because I love him,” she said.

 

Arianne raised an eyebrow. “Ser Dayne has told me of your exploits under the heart tree.”

 

“I see,” Sansa said. She’d known that the story of it was meant to leak, that had been the whole point, but she’d never expected to be confronted on it so blatantly. “Lover’s passion.”

 

“I don’t doubt it. But you married in front of the Old Gods. Your Northern gods, not the seven. I’ve thought about it since I had word, my Queen, and I think I know what you meant to do. And then I thought, what use does Sansa Stark have of King’s Landing? Were you not held prisoner here for years? I’ve heard stories. Beaten by the kingsgaurd, your father’s head was chopped off, your sister disappeared here… after all that, who would want to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, even without Daenerys’ dragons and her armies.”

 

Arianne eyed Sansa for a moment in silence. 

 

“What are you proposing?” Sansa asked, “I wasn’t lying when I said I was not the one to come to for military matters. The Northern army is scattered, and the Vale… well… I’m wary of relying on them, in truth. Jon is the King, and I am not privy to his councils.”

 

“You will be. He trusts you.”

 

Sansa wasn’t sure about that. Their romance had began with suspicion, and after that letter from the Vale Sansa was reminded of the shadow that hung over their marriage. “So the true price of your allegiance to our cause is a free Dorne?”

 

“Yes. And what should you and Jon want of it when you’re rebuilding Winterfell, anyway? I’m happy to trade with you, it would be to both of our benefits, but we are a poor country and a proud one. We aren’t meant to be ruled by a Targaryen.”

 

“I will talk to Jon about it,” Sansa said. “When the time is right.”

 

“That’s all I ask. Oh, and one last thing, My Queen. My two cousins could wait on you, if you’re looking for a more experienced retinue. They have been my loyal companions all of my years at court. Nymeria and Tyene Sand, the daughters of my uncle Oberyn Martell.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa said. “I would receive them whenever they are free.”

 

With that, Arianne left the King’s chambers. Sansa was still not sure what to make of her, or whether she had confessed too much to this woman who was all but a stranger to her. 


	13. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this hasn’t updated in awhile! I have the next three chapters extensively outlined, so I should have a few updates out for you in the next month. I’m hoping to write 50k of this (and finish it?) this month for NaNoWriMo... however this is a goal that I’m unsure if I can reach, since I’m a notoriously slow writer. Wish me luck! I have a bunch of plot twists planned, some dragon action, and at least one murder... and that’s just in chapters 14-16!

The days that followed passed slowly. Jon trudged through his days meeting with advisors and inspecting maps. Jaime wanted to discuss battle plans with him, no doubt to prove his use and win some semblance of freedom for himself, but Jon had deployed him to keep watch over Sansa. He still didn’t trust the kingslayer and ached to separate his head from his body, but he still needed the westerlands, and there was nobody else he could hold as hostage to keep them from open revolt. But the way Jaime Lannister looked at Jon when he returned to his bedchambers to lay with his wife almost made him give in to instinct and strangle the man on the spot.

 

Jon had become convinced that war was the only thing that would settle this conflict. He had told his advisors as much, and believed that they’d come to a consensus. And yet, he could tell Sam and Davos grew more reluctant by the day. Arianne’s intensity scared everyone.

 

When he returned to his chambers that night, Sansa was sitting at a table playing crevasse with her two new handmaidens, giggling. They were surrounded by empty bottles of Dornish wine. It took her a moment to register that he’d come in, but she turned her head and sighed happily when she saw him. “Jon!” She walked over to him, stumbling slightly, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. “Come play crevasse with us! Tyene has taught me a fun new way to play.”

 

“Does it involve wine?” Jon asked, wrapping her arms around Sansa and pulling her close. Despite the fact that he and Sansa had made love in front of an audience twice now, Jon was still uncomfortable with such public displays of affection. There was a part of him that felt like Sansa’s mother was going to walk in at any moment and see him pawing her daughter. But Sansa felt good in his arms, and it had been a long day. 

 

“It does,” Sansa said, giggling again. “I’m a little drunk.”

 

“I didn’t notice,” Jon said, unable to contain a laugh of his own. This was the happiest Jon had seen Sansa outside of their bed since they’d arrived in King’s Landing, and he felt indebted to Tyene Sand. When Arianne had sent the girls, Jon hadn’t understood it. They were not the companions he would pick for his beloved wife. But perhaps Arianne knew better than Jon gave her credit for. “Okay, I’ll play,” he said. 

 

Jon sat down next to Sansa and took on Tyene, who could handle both her wine and her way around a crevasse board. “You’re not as good at this as your wife,” Tyene said when she won the round and Jon had to empty a glass of wine. 

 

“I’m not good at playing games,” Jon admitted, “I haven’t played crevasse in years.”

 

In their second round, Tyene underestimated Jon, and he turned her own tactics against her, winning an easy victory. Sansa kissed him hungrily when he won and Tyene poured the wine down her throat.

 

“A third round?” Nymeria asked.

 

“No. I need to speak with my wife.”

 

But they didn’t speak. As soon as they were alone, they immediately began tearing at each other’s clothes, and moved to the bed. Sansa kissed him as though he’d been away at war and not down the hall. She had him down to his smallclothes in a few minutes, and pushed him back onto the bed. When had ridden herself of her cumbersome dress, Sansa laid down on top of him. She ran her lips across his neck and down his chest. It took only a few minutes before she sunk down on top of him.

 

“I needed this,” Sansa said when he was inside of her. In a month, Sansa had become immensely talented at this. “I’ve wanted you all day,” she said. Jon only needed to lay there, Sansa set the pace and took her pleasure on top of him. But Jon was not one to let Sansa do all the work, and it didn’t take long for him to flip her over and take control. 

 

“Perhaps I should visit you at midday tomorrow. You nourish me better than food.”

 

Sansa giggled again, happy and tipsy. She clung to him, wriggling underneath him. Jon spent inside her before his wife had a chance to come, and so when he was done he pulled her back to his chest, reached around and stroked her with his thumb until she came too. 

 

“This is all that matters,” Sansa said.

 

Jon just laughed. 

 

“I’m serious,” Sansa said. “Everything that matters to me is in this bed with me right now. You and our unborn child.”

 

“You’re the most important thing to me too, that’s why I leave you. So I can plan with Sam and Davos.”

 

“What sort of life do you want for your child?” Sansa asked, her voice soft. “Do you truly think we can be happy here? In this pit of vipers?”

 

“I haven’t been happy here since you arrived, my Queen.”

 

Sansa turned around so that her forehead was touching his. She pressed a kiss to his lips and looked into his eyes. “I want to rebuild Winterfell. We need to go home.”

 

“I’ve heard it said that home is where the heart is.”

 

“Well, you are my heart, so I must be home,” Sansa said. She sighed before kissing him, and then he was hard again and they began to fuck once more. 

 

He was lucky to have a wife who was as insatiable as he was, though before Sansa he hadn’t known just how much base desire inside himself. This time Jon took her from behind, and her orgasm brought his on. 

 

Jon was still catching his breath when Sansa spoke again. “We need to find a way to end this without war. We don’t belong here, Jon. Leave all this to her, we can go home.”

 

“You’re asking me to give up my kingdom.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I need to protect my people. She can’t do that. She can’t keep them fed.” 

 

“And neither can you if you die.”

 

Jon just sighed, for he had no answer for that. 

 

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you,” Sansa said, so raw it was as if she was realizing it for the first time. When he looked at her in the flickering candlelight, he realized that tears were falling from her eyes. “I’ve endured a lot, it’s true, and I’ve learned to live without so much… but I can’t go back to that, not now that I know how wonderful life can truly be.”

 

“You won’t lose me,” Jon finally choked out. He pulled her close to him, eager to comfort her and dry her tears. “I’ve made it through worse than this.”

 

Jon knew it was just the wine that had made her so emotional. The wine made her fall asleep easily too. But as Jon rubbed her back, he thought about the enormity of the war ahead of them if things were to proceed the way they had over the past few days. He was acting like a green boy who didn’t know what he had to lose. He would give up his life for the woman he cared about easily. He had been trained to fall on his own sword for the greater good. But it wasn’t about just him anymore, was it? Revenge had a cost, and that cost could be the life of his child and his wife. 

 

Despite the ungodly hour, Jon forced himself to get out of bed and dress once Sansa had fallen asleep. “Summon Queen Daenerys to my solar,” Jon told the Darkstar as he left the room, and headed across the hall to his solar. He sat at his desk and stared once again at the maps that had been piled there. War would have consequences, it was true. What would become of his child and his wife if he fell on a battlefield? He had allies, but they too were mortal men. There was only so much he could ask of him in good conscience. 

 

In the end, Daenerys could burn it all to the ground, no matter how hard any of them fought back. Jon didn’t trust his wife with all that power. When angered she was a different woman entirely. Jon had never been on the receiving end of her rage before, but he’d fucked up. He couldn’t truly blame her either. At the first opportunity, Jon had thought to repay Daenerys with fire and blood. 

 

Jon sighed, staring at the map. 

 

“We need to make peace,” Jon told her as soon as she’d sat down across from her.

 

“I didn’t know we were at war.”

 

Jon grated his teeth. “You declared war when you marched her naked through the castle.”

 

“She wasn’t naked. I gave her one of my own gowns. It’s a popular style in Essos.”

 

“You wanted to degrade her.”

 

“Everyone needed to see that I’m still their Queen, and know that they shouldn’t bow and scrape to your whore.”

 

Jon flexed his sword hand. “Sansa is my wife as much as you are.”

 

“Our marriage is what holds the Seven Kingdoms together, Jon Snow. You broke more than your vows, you broke  _ everything _ . You don’t seem to understand the enormity of what you did,” Daenerys looked down, and for a fraction of a second Jon saw beneath the facade she presented to the world. But the moment passed, and his first wife became a stranger to him once again. “And you did more than that. You made me into a fool. I won’t be pitied by my people.”

 

_ Better pity than fear _ , he almost said. “Visenya Targaryen wasn’t a fool when Aegon the Conqueror took Rhaenys to wife,” he said instead, appealing to Daenerys’ love for their Targaryen heritage. 

 

Daenerys exhaled softly and shook her head. “Sansa is not a Targaryen, Jon, and neither are you. Not truly. They made their mark on you, and now you’ll never be mine.”

 

“You don’t even want me.”

 

“I did, in the beginning. I thought we could do great things together. I was told of all the wonderful feats the great Jon Snow had accomplished. How he had made something out of nothing, just like I had. And you were Rhaegar’s son! Of course I wanted you. But you were cold. You have always been cold. You did your duty, of course, you always did until now, but how could I want a man who never wanted me?”

 

“Our marriage was a peace agreement. And I was tired. I thought the love would come eventually,” Jon admitted. 

 

“But it didn’t. And I found somebody else, somebody who comes eagerly to my bed. And you found somebody else too. But instead of taking a lover like the King’s who came before you, you decided to…” Daenerys’ voice trailed off. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re so cold with her.” 

 

Jon sighed. He would not talk about what went on with Sansa in their bed. He had come here for something else, and he needed to find a way to get it from his first wife. “You’re not a fool, Dany. And I am a Targaryen. We conquered the Seven Kingdoms together, just like Aegon did. You don’t love me, so don’t act as though you’re a woman scorned. Sansa is valuable, she has the North and the Riverlands, and Lord Baelish and Lord Arryn in the Vale are loyal to her too… Sansa can give the realm an heir, something we need, and our son will be related to nearly everyone who matters. The three of us can lead the kingdom to prosperity.”

 

“But it won’t be the three of us, will it? It will be you and your new Queen.”

 

“I want everyone to be fed, and for us to last the winter. But you know I have no desire to rule. And Sansa wants peace too — she aches for home. We can go North and rebuild a broken country. You can lead the South. Nobody will doubt your power then.”

 

Daenerys looked at the map that was still in front of Jon. She would prove herself a fool if she did not realize how everything was stacked against her. But Jon did not doubt that Daenerys  _ was _ a fool. Perhaps Jon was cold, but Daenerys burned too bright.

 

“I’ll need to talk to Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, “and I’ll need one other thing.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your first born son. When he’s old enough to travel, you would need to send him to court so I could teach him about his heritage, and how to rule. It will be his birthright.”

 

“I couldn’t ask Sansa to give up her child. Not after everything that’s happened to her. Surely, you must understand. You grew up without a mother.”

 

“Rhaegar would have a mother. He’d have  _ me _ .”

 

“You plan to name the baby Rhaegar?”

 

“Of course. There is no more suitable name for my heir than the name of your father, my brother!”

 

Jon swallowed down his disgust. He had wanted to name his firstborn son Eddard, after the man who had been his true father, but it would do no good to tell Daenerys that. He had taken a child from his mother’s breast before, when he’d sent Gilly south with Mance Rayder’s son. He could do it again if it would save lives, couldn’t he? Making their son Dany’s creature would ensure his safety, and Jon wasn’t sure anything else could so long as Daenerys was alive. But this was his son, and Sansa’s, and that changed everything. 

 

“There must be another way,” Jon said. 

 

“You know there is. There always has been.”

 

“I’ll need to discuss it with Sansa.”

 

“Yes. As will I. Tell your little wife that I plan on calling on her tomorrow.”


	14. Sansa

 

Sansa stirs when she feels Jon get back into bed and wrap an arm around her. She rolls over and looks at him, still half-asleep. 

 

“Go back to sleep,” Jon says, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

 

“Where were you?” Sansa asks, when she realizes it’s still dark, and Jon is back in his breeches and shirt. “Did you go to see your other wife?” she jokes, but beneath the surface she does wonder if that’s what he’d done. Perhaps everything would be solved if Jon bedded his first wife. Maybe they could all be a big happy family. Except, just the thought of it made her clench her jaw. 

 

“With Daenerys,” Jon said, and for a moment Sansa’s heart tightened, “I took into consideration what you said last night, and tried to talk it through with her. So it doesn’t come to war.”

 

“Forgive me, my love, but my mind is a bit foggy when it comes to last night.”

 

“You’d had a lot to drink,” Jon said, his lips curled into a sweet smile. Jon’s hand ran down her stomach and between her legs, “you’re still wet.”

 

“You’re insatiable,” Sansa said as Jon ran his finger in circles around her clit.

 

Jon just laughed. He continued to pleasure her, until she was pressing her cunt up into his hand. “We did this for a bit last night too, and when I was inside you, you stopped and told me that you couldn’t lose me, and all you want is Winterfell.”

 

“And what did My King say to that?”

 

“That he’s willing to give everything up for you.”

 

“Oh. Is he?” Sansa cooed, and Jon slid his fingers into her. Sansa moved her hips in time with his hand, and thought of Winterfell. It had been so long since she’d been home. Things would be different once they made it back home. She’d be able to be herself again, she would let the veil of courtesies drop and she could truly let Jon know her, and perhaps he’d even love the real her...

 

“Your King merely wants to please you.”

 

“You do, Jon, you do.”

 

Jon pulled the silk sheets off of Sansa’s body, exposing her to the cool evening air. Soon his tongue was on his clit, and another finger inside her cunt. Jon was so good at this. When he used his mouth, her entire body would shake when she came. She knew it must be a spectacle. She gave into him completely, letting him pleasure her, and let go of all other concerns. She was his completely in those moments, with no agenda except the blissful feeling of his hands on her.

 

“Oh, Jon!” Sansa said, snaking her fingers through his curls and pulling his head closer to her. It did not take long for Sansa to come apart against Jon’s tongue. When he leaned back down against the pillows, their conversation resumed as if it had never been interrupted by sex.

“Nothing has really changed with Daenerys. She wants the same thing she’s always wanted. A baby. An heir for us to leave all of this to.”

 

“You think she’d be happy you took another bride then…” Sansa said, rolling her eyes at Daenerys’ stupidity. 

 

“You’re a threat to her power. She can’t control you.”

 

“I have too many allies.”

 

“You control the largest kingdom, even if it’s devastated now, and your relations control the Riverlands and the Vale. And you’re fertile. She wouldn’t have minded if I’d married Margaery, or maybe even somebody else she controlled. But you’re a stranger, and a Stark, and she has no way to control you except her dragons.” Jon sighed, and closed his eyes, clearly thinking about the enormity of the problem they’d gotten themselves into. Sansa had kept him aroused and distracted before they’d arrived in King’s Landing, and he had never had much time alone to question any of it. As the morning light began to stream into the room, Sansa pushed what remained of the silken blankets off of her naked body so she could be admired. When Jon opened his eyes a moment later, he found her running her fingers against her cunt. He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him, so her legs were wrapped around one of his hard thighs. “Rub against me,” he told her. 

 

_ I’m the insatiable one _ , Sansa thought. Pretending she was so eager to bed Jon was easier when she told herself she did it because she was trying to make Jon hers. But he already was hers, and here she was, rutting her hips against him like an animal in heat. No matter how this had began, Sansa had become Jon’s as much as he was hers. 

 

“So what else went on in your secret meeting with Daenerys?” Sansa asked, her voice coming out more ragged than she’d expected. She reached a hand up to her chest and cupped her breast, running her thumb around her hard nipple.

 

“I told her I wanted to negotiate. That it didn’t need to come to war, and she demanded that you send her our firstborn son to be raised at court —”

 

“That’s out of the question!” Sansa cried out, but she did not stop rubbing against him even at her horror of the prospect of losing one of her children to the south.

 

“And she reminded me of her plan to have Margaery bear my child,” Jon said.

 

Jon was the king, and he was a man. Sansa knew Jon would stray from her bed, that he would father many bastards. The pragmatic part of her, the part of her that had convinced herself to marry him in the first place, that had enabled her to survive this long, did not mind this. In fact, as she continued to rub up against him, the thought of Jon with other women fuelled a pleasant fire in her blood. She liked that her husband was powerful and desirable. She was proud of herself for having such an important man, a man who could have anyone he wanted, and yet had choosen her to be his queenly consort. She had no desire for her future sons to sit on the Iron Throne. It was far too dangerous. Sansa wanted nothing more than freedom for herself and for her people. And yet despite the rush of lust, she didn’t want her new husband to enjoy himself in a lover’s bed more than her so soon after they’d wed. At least not alone.

 

“Of course we’ll have to accept,” Sansa said after a moment of silence.

 

“We cannot.”

 

“Of course we can.”

 

“Sansa, I will not dishonour you. And I will not force you to part with our child.”

 

“A king must do his duty,” Sansa insisted, the friction of Jon’s skin against her clit becoming almost unbearable now, “you must father an heir for her, countless lives will be saved by you putting a bastard on Margaery Tyrell. She is a comely woman, Jon. It’ll be pleasurable for you.”

 

“You don’t mind the thought of me with another woman?” Jon said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

 

“Perhaps if it was just the thought it would bother me. Do you plan on kicking me out of our bed?” Sansa raised an eyebrow, letting Jon realize on his own what she was suggesting. It can’t have been much a reach for him to put it together, as she was rubbing her slick cunt against his thigh, a wanton woman putting on a show for her husband to enjoy, that she would put on such a show with Margaery Tyrell.

 

“I would not ask such a thing of you, my lady,” Jon said solemnly, brushing a piece of hair out of Sansa’s eye with his thumb. 

 

“You’re not, I’m asking you. Would it please you to bed me and Margaery? I admit, I’ve wondered what she and Daenerys do in bed together, and I’d like to try it. And…” Sansa blushed, because this was not all manipulation, and she was confessing some of her most base desires to Jon now, “you give me such pleasure, I would enjoy watching you pleasure another woman. I’d like to watch you fuck her.”

 

Jon’s Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You want to watch me fuck another woman?”

 

Sansa nodded, her cheeks flushed bright pink. It took everything in her to keep looking at Jon. She tightened her legs around Jon and thrust her hips forward,“Would you do it for me?” Her voice came out as a whimper of desperation.

 

“You know I’d do anything to please you, my queen,” Jon said. Before she knew it, he was unlacing his breeches and pulling his cock out. He pulled her legs apart roughly, and sank into her cunt. It did not take Sansa long to cum. She tightened her cunt around him and shuddered out his name. “Oh, Jon. My king!”

 

Sansa wondered if she’d ever have admitted such a base desire to Jon, even if it served her interests, if she hadn’t been so wet and turned on when they discussed the important matter. But they were in bed and her cunt ached for him so desperately she could imagine doing all sorts of loathsome things. She was a creature of desire when the two of them were abed. “Margaery is Daenerys’ one true ally, Jon,” Sansa reminded him.

 

“I don’t trust her,” he grumbled into her neck as he thrust inside of her. 

 

“We can seduce her,” Sansa said. “We can make her want us more than she wants Daenerys, and she then she’d be on our side.”

 

“Like you seduced me?” Jon asked. It was not an accusation, there was fondness in his voice. 

 

***

 

Once they were finished, Sansa was dressed in a regal dress of cloth-of-gold, and a 

sapphire necklace that matched her blue eyes. Her new crown arrived that morning, and she’d decided to wear it to the meeting, even though she knew it would arouse a reaction out of Daenerys. Her crown was different than Daenerys’. The one Jon had made for her was a replica of the Crown of Winter that Robb and the Kings of Winter before him had once worn. It was so beautiful she almost cried when she first saw herself in the looking glass. Jon knew her well, and certainly knew how to please his bride though there was certainly no way he could have known her innermost dreams when he’d had it made. 

 

“You look beautiful,” Tyene told her with a smile.

 

Tyene wore the same Essoi-styled dress Daenerys had marched Sansa through the castle in, and that Arianne had worn when she’d called on Sansa a few days before. Her new handmaidens were fun and loyal, and they much preferred their newest Queen to Sansa’s rival. 

 

When Sansa was dressed, Tyene and Nymeria escorted her to Daenerys’ chambers. Daenerys made her wait for half an hour before appearing with Lady Margaery at her side as ever. Sansa had seen Margaery Tyrell pretend to love a tyrant before, when she’d taken Sansa’s own place with Joffrey. Daenerys did not look much different to her now than Joffrey did back then. Margaery was good at seducing tyrants. It was then that Sansa realized that she could not in good conscience allow Daenerys to ever have control of one of Jon’s children, not even any that Margaery Tyrell bore. Margaery was charming to High lords and beloved by the people, even though her sinful desires and activities with Queen Daenerys was an open secret. Margaery was simply too dangerous an asset for Daenerys to be allowed to keep.                                                                                                                    

 

“I see you have a crown now, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, her mouth twisting into a smile though her eyes remained cold and immovable.

 

“It’s the crown of winter,” Sansa said, “the original was lost, and my brother’s crown was stolen from us by our enemies, but it’s made to look the same as the one that was in my family for thousands of years.”

 

“Until my family took it from you.”

 

“Yes, until Torrhen Stark bent the knee to save our people from destruction. A wise move, I think.”

 

“We can both agree with that, Lady Stark.”

 

The satisfaction that was plain upon Daenerys’ face irritated Sansa. “And yet, it seems to have worked. We played the long game, and here we are. A Stark sits on the Iron Throne.”

 

“Half a Stark. His father was a Targaryen.”

 

“Was he?” Sansa let her voice trail off, but then she forced herself to do what she came here to do. “I am submitting to you as Torrhen Stark did before me. You want an heir, and you want your lover to carry it for you. I have convinced our husband that it’s in everyone’s best interest to give into your demands. I will happily accept Lady Margaery’s company on the journey North. You will have control of the capitol, and Jon will breed her. Once she has a baby and it’s safe for them to travel, you can have her and her child back. I will make sure she is comfortable.”

 

“I must admit, Lady Stark, you’ve impressed me. I didn’t think Jon would ever give in.”

 

“I made him see how important it is that we obey you.”  _ Or, at least, that you think you’re getting what you want,  _ Sansa thought, keeping her lips twisted into a fake smile.

 

“You will leave today, and you will introduce Margaery as Jon’s official concubine, and mother of the future heir to the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys instructed, and Sansa nodded in obedience. “You will speak well of me. I will treat anything you say against me as treason. Trust that I have the best spies.”

 

Sansa nodded. “You have dragons, and I don’t want my people to lose their lives unnecessarily.”

 

“A wise move. And wise too to return to the backwater you came from.”

 

Daenerys got up and left. Her words played over again and again in Sansa’s mind. Sansa might be returning to the North, but she was bring Daenerys husband and her lover with her. It was almost impossible that Daenerys could have perceived herself as the victor in this exchange, even if she thought Sansa was as stupid as Cersei had. And yet Daenerys had been smug, even as the cards were stacked so obviously in Sansa’s favour. 

 

***

 

They were to head to Winterfell right away. They had only been in the capital a week when they set off, but it was dangerous in King’s Landing, and Sansa didn’t want anything to jeopardize her plans to return home. If Sansa truly was with child, like she thought she was, she wanted to be home well before . They would travel by the king’s road and introduce the new Queen to the people and help distribute grain. They would sing Daenerys’ praises and tell anyone who asked that the Queen was ruling in  King’s Landing. Nobody would doubt who held the true power, Daenerys made sure of that. Margaery was to be introduced as the King’s official concubine, and Jon and Sansa were to tell anyone who asked that Margaery was carrying the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. 

 

Of course, Margaery wasn’t pregnant yet, nor was she likely to ever be. A week had passed since they left and the King had not yet visited her bed. But Margaery did not contradict the notion that she carried the royal bastard that was to rule over them all. Sansa knew that Daenerys’ demand for an official title for her lover was to keep Sansa in her place. The Seven Kingdoms would know Jon was a man of voracious appetites, and he did not keep to Sansa’s bed. But Sansa had to admit that the plan was not altogether bad for her and Jon. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms who took them in every night all admired Jon for having so many pretty young lovers, and patted him on the back for being so virile. 

 

“Have you heard the news?” Sansa was asked when she arrived at the second castle of their tour.

 

“Queen Daenerys flew her dragons to Dorne and burned the water gardens.”

 

Sansa knew then that everything they had done for peace had been for naught, and war had been declared. She turned to the Darkstar. “Find Margaery Tyrell and don’t let her out of your sight. She’s our hostage now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> left you all with a bit of a cliff hanger there! The next two chapters will deal with the fallout of the Martell vs. Targaryen war and end with one of our currently key players getting murdered! I hope you’re all enjoying it thus far!


	15. Margaery / Arianne

**Margaery**

 

Margaery was not surprised that the house of cards had fallen apart, only at how swiftly the destruction of peace in the realm had been. Her grandmother had warned her how things would be, she had even encouraged Margaery to make friends with Sansa again. But try as she might, Margaery had been unable to ensnare either Jon or Sansa. Getting into bed with either of them had proven impossible, though they made great effort to refer to her as Jon’s favored concubine at feasts and to the high lords. It would have been a harmless way to placate the Dragon Queen if their certainty that Margaery was not with child held true, but even Margaery herself could not be sure anymore. She knew better than anyone that it was necessary to spread out risk.

 

“Are you really going to put me in chains, Ser Dayne?” Margaery asked once she was alone with the Darkstar in the chambers that were afforded to the royal concubine were more lush than any prisoner deserved, and the guard that was meant to keep her in line was easy to distract. 

 

“Maybe. Would you like that?”

 

“It could be fun,” Margaery said, as though it was some dark confession. She looked up at him through fluttering eyelashes and let him kiss her. She made a point to sigh against his lips and to close her eyes. He need not know that he was repellant to her, and that when her eyes were shut she thought only of those first days with Daenerys. Her time with the Queen was over now, no matter what she’d done to keep them together. Everything Margaery did now was for herself, and for House Tyrell. “But there’s something else I need.”

 

“Oh?” the Darkstar murmured into Margaery’s neck as he kissed her. “You want me to defy my orders and take you back to King’s Landing?”

 

“You’ve been craving that sort of adventure, haven’t you? You weren’t made to be a loyal footsoldier to the King, you were meant to abduct his favored concubine. And to keep your other lover safe too.”

 

“Arianne can take care of herself,” Ser Gerold said, as he pushed Margaery onto the bed. Margaery rested her face in a feather pillow as the Darkstar pushed up her skirts and sank into her.

 

Ser Dayne was not hard to please as lovers went. He preferred a submissive woman, he liked when she moaned on about how  _ big _ he was, he could not tell the difference between fake orgasms and the real thing (though Margaery doubted he’d ever heard the real thing), but most of all, what he liked was to be reminded of who she was when he was inside of her. She was the plaything of Kings and Queens -- and now, the sleaziest member of the Kingsgaurd. 

 

If Margaery was pregnant with the Darkstar’s child -- and that was a big  _ if _ \-- it would not do to let anyone think there had been any impropriety between the two of them. In public, Margaery doted on Jon and Sansa. She gave advice on how to pleasure both men and women to the sewing circle, when away from the King and Queen she made certain to remark on how wonderful the two of them were, and how much she adored being of service to them. 

 

People would talk, as they always did, about how it was all an act. But even that suited her. The King and his Queens had fallen for Margaery’s act, and been bewitched by the whore of Highgarden. Nobody need know that the King reviled her and Sansa regarded her with nothing but suspicion. Nobody need know that the potential child she carried wasn’t Jon’s. So long as she held the child in her womb, she would be protected from Jon’s wrath, for striking her down would look like anyone else as kinslaying. 

 

Once Ser Gerold had come, he cleaned himself up and resumed standing guard over her. 

 

******

 

**Arianne**

 

Arianne had been trapped in her chambers since before Daenerys had departed for Dorne. She had only been told she was being charged with high treason, but nobody had told her what her exact crime had been. That she was guilty of conspiring against Daenerys was true, but she would not hesitate to throw Sansa or Jon under the bus if it meant saving her life. She assumed she was being left alone, with little food coming into her chambers and no news at all, in a form of slow torture. She doubted Daenerys was stupid enough to actually execute the last Martell. But slowly, word got back to her that Daenerys had done much worse. 

 

For the first time Arianne could remember, she weeped. She imagined the water gardens ablaze, and just that was enough to haunt her dreams. But news soon came out her that all of Sunspear had been sacked. Her wealth had been carried away and the city burned. Arianne had always cared most about herself, but deep down she knew it was her responsibility to protect the common people. She had wanted war, she had ached for revenge and for glory, but she had forgotten she was playing with fire. It did not take much to imagine the rolling fires that were set to have engulfed the towns of Dorne. 

 

After two days, Daenerys returned. Arianne could hear Drogon and Rhaegal crawling on the roof of the Red Keep, and feel their claws digging at the stone as they braced themselves. A few hours later, Ser Jaime was sent to summon Arianne to Daenerys’ chambers. 

 

Sitting on the balcony overlooking the city in black and red silks, with her beautiful blonde hair swaying in the breeze, Daenerys looked just like how she had imagined the dreaded Targaryen dragonlords who had tried so many times to conquer Dorne. Arianne remembered the songs from her childhood. She’d always taken it as a point of pride that it had been Dorne to hold out the longest, that she was called Princess and not merely Lady… 

 

“I never did trust you,” Daenerys said, not even bothering to look away from the city. “You’re like your brother in a way. You both thought that you could tame a dragon. That’s what killed him, you know. Hubris.”

 

“Your dragon killed him,” Arianne choked out accusingly.

 

“You’re right, though I’m not sure which one,” Daenerys said. There was a flash of pleasure on Daenerys’ face, and Arianne mourned more for Quentyn in those moments than she ever had before. “I can’t decide how you should die. It would be poetic in a way, for you to die the same way as him. I’m sure a singer would make a great tale of it. How you burned along with your country, how your brother foreshadowed what was to come. But then, I wondered if I might crucify you.”

 

“ _ Crucify _ me?” 

 

“You Westerosi have a very narrow mind when it comes to how people ought to die. You think beheading people is fine, even if you stick their heads up as a warning. And you’re all so very high minded about burning people to death. But what does it matter? Dead is dead.”

 

“Crucifixion is slow.”

 

“But it serves as a warning, doesn’t it? In a way it saves lives.”

 

Arianne forced herself to straighten her back. She stood as tall as she could and exhaled. This was not over. “I would gladly die a martyr. My people will rise up and avenge me.”

 

“I don’t think what remains of your people will do anything, Princess Martell. I’m sure most of them will flee. The common people don’t care about independence or the egos and pride of their lords. They want food and stability.”

 

“And you fed them with fire!”

 

“You called your banners. They were in open rebellion. Their blood is on your hands, not mine.”

 

Daenerys was used to dealing with timid women, women who knew their place and exercised power through sex or politicking. Arianne was no stranger to that, it was true. But she was a princess of Dorne, she was the descendent of Queen Nymeria who had led her people away from fire and extinction. She may not be able to fight as well as her cousins, but she would not stand back and die. Without giving herself time to question the impulse, Arianne wrapped her hands around Daenerys’ neck and began to squeeze. Despite her initial shock, Daenerys fought back, kicking Arianne, and using her own hands to scratch at Arianne’s back. But Arianne was stronger than Daenerys, and pretty soon she had knocked her to the ground and was standing on top of her. She put all her weight on Daenerys’ neck. Once she’d passed out, Arianne stood up. She stood staring at Daenerys’ still body for a moment. She had gotten her revenge, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get away. 

 

Arianne was still wondering what to do when Ser Jaime walked back into the room to check on the queen. He did not say anything to Arianne. He simply nodded, and picked up Daenerys’ lifeless corpse. “We don’t have a lot of time,” Jaime said. He tucked Daenerys’ body into her bed, and hid her under blankets. Then he grabbed his hand and led her out of the castle. 

 

***

 

**Margaery**

 

“You needn’t come with me, if this is out of some sort of Dornish loyalty, or affinity towards Arianne, but I cannot stay here. Just let me escape.”

 

“I’ll look incompetent.”

 

“You’re already known for child murder, Ser Gerold, and you’ve come back from that.”

 

For a moment Margaery wondered if Ser Dayne would strike her, but instead he laughed. Somehow that was more ominous. 

 

“Queen Daenerys will reward you highly, as will my grandmother. I’m a wealthy woman in my own right.”

 

“I’m a knight of the kingsgaurd. I’ve taken a vow to obey the king.”

 

“And you took a vow for chastity too, but you’ve fathered more than one bastard. You’re a man with needs, and I think Queen Daenerys would suit them better. King Jon doesn’t let you fuck Sansa, does he? But Daenerys would happily take us both to bed.”

 

That Ser Dayne believed it said more about the rumours that surrounded their affair than it did about Daenerys herself, but the temptation of the three of them abed together proved too great and finally he gave in. And with that, Margaery Tyrell was in the wind.

  
  
  



	16. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like four half-done unedited chapters on my computer after this. Let's see how quickly I can turn them into something that makes sense...

Sansa had thought that when she and Jon were finally free of Daenerys Targaryen, they would celebrate. Finally they could be together without anyone trying to force them apart. They could rebuild Winterfell and the North in peace. Her mind had been full of little domestic daydreams of a simpler life, of the life they both had lost all those years ago. But in the end, it turned out that Daenerys’ death did not bring her and Jon closer together. It had left her alone instead, for Jon had refused to bring her back to the capital with him. It was too dangerous, he’d said, but Sansa suspected that Jon didn’t want to remind the smallfolk about the other woman as they mourned his first queen. Despite everything, including the dragons that ravaged the land, Daenerys’ people grieved for her. She had liberated them from slavery and brought them to Westeros to build a new life.

 

For her protection, Edmure kept her confined to her chambers except during meals. When Sansa had questioned the arrangement, Edmure had said that the king had commanded it, to keep her safe. Her uncle did a diligent job, posting guards to protect her. Sansa couldn’t help but find it funny that after everything, she was still the princess in a tower waiting for a man to save her.

 

They called her Queen now, though. That was new. And not a single person, not even those who had been loyal to Daenerys, questioned it. It was as if the events of the past two months had been forgotten, and then they’d be written to make Jon Aegon the Conquerer reborn, Daenerys was Rhaenys, killed by a cowardly Dornish woman, and Sansa was Visenya. To play the part she would have to avenge Daenerys’ death, of course. This story didn’t make sense to Sansa, for that was certainly not the part that any of them had played in the whole affair, and yet her people were desperate for her to attack Dorne. 

 

Sansa couldn’t bring herself to be sad that Daenerys was dead, but still, she hadn’t wanted her to die. She’d just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to run North with her new husband. It also didn’t escape her that this entire problem was at least partially her fault. She had been the one to disrupt the fragile peace. 

 

She may have been banished to her chambers, but she was not without company. Sansa would have rather been alone to brood, but instead Roslin Frey and her ladies sat next to her. They all kept busy with embroidery. Sansa had begun working on a quilt for the child she’d thought she was carrying, but the morning Jon left she’d gotten her moonblood. She’d cursed the gods for that, but she’d burnt her smallclothes lest any servants find it. She was not ready for word to reach Jon yet, nor any of the people he’d led to believe she was with child. 

 

“It’s not so bad here,” Roslin said to her the second morning, with a smile. “I know what it’s like to be a prisoner.”

 

“I wasn’t aware I was a prisoner,” Sansa said.

 

Roslin blushed and looked down, focusing on the Tully fish she was embroidering onto a men’s doublet. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I misspoke.”

 

“It’s quite alright. I know what it’s like to be a prisoner too, Lady Tully. You’re my family, not my captors.”

 

“We only want you to be safe,” Roslin said, more eagerly now. 

 

Sansa did not bring up her mother, nor her brother, and she tried her best not to hold their deaths against Roslin Frey. Sansa knew that the girl likely had little choice in the destruction of House Stark, and she seemed to dote on Edmure. And yet, Sansa could not help but worry. Worry seemed to come easily now, having been betrayed so often and so terribly. She had to remind herself that Edmure had been loyal to her family till the end, and that he had loved his sister. But still, he had been a stranger to her.

 

“You needn’t worry,” Sansa reassured her host, “I’m quiet only because I worry after my husband. Something I expect you know well.”

 

“Yes,” Roslin said, and another uneasy silence fell between the two. Sansa didn’t want to say anything that would lead to conflict between the two of them. She meant only to charm Lady Tully… and yet Roslin was a rather dull, uninteresting woman, who had little to say on any of the subjects Sansa broached. At first she’d thought it was coldness, but now Sansa had come to think that she wasn’t very bright. “I did want to make you feel welcome, so when your uncle wrote, I invited him to stay.”

 

“My uncle?” Sansa asked, unable to think of any uncle that remained to her besides Edmure. Had Benjen been found in the North? The Blackfish had died in the war, and Brandon Stark was long dead. 

 

“Lord Petyr?” Roslin said, furrowing her brow. “Didn’t you stay with him during the war?”

 

Sansa looked down at her lap and closed her eyes. If Roslin or her silent ladies had been looking, they would have seen a moment of frustration on Sansa’s face. But it took only a split second for Sansa to force a smile. “It’s a bit out of the way. I shall write him and say I’m content with your company. It will reach him before he descends the mountain —”

 

“Oh no! Lord Petyr has been at Harrenhal, collecting his taxes.”

 

“Oh. How lovely for me.”

 

“Indeed. I look forward to meeting him. He’s quite a hero, I’ve heard. Edmure has told me all about him!”

 

“I’d forgotten Edmure and Petyr knew each other.”

 

“Oh yes! Edmure was sad to miss Petyr and Lysa’s wedding. Petyr was like a big brother to him. Really, Your Grace, we’ve been eager to see him. Your visit is just an excuse.

 

Petyr arrived at Riverrun a few days later. His arrival was met with nearly as much fanfare as the king’s, much to Sansa’s irritation. But Petyr did bring quite a feast with him, with fresh fruit from the Vale, and a bushel or two of extra wheat. Sansa could not begrudge her people — for they were all her people now — feeding their hungry bellies. It was only Petyr she begrudged, and whatever agenda had led him to this act of kindness. 

 

Sansa waited in the courtyard with everyone else, even though she was a Queen now. She wanted the common people to see Littlefinger bend the knee to her and say his courtesies. She wanted them to see the richest lord in the land submit.

 

But Petyr did not bend his knee. Petyr took Sansa’s hand and kissed it, and pledged his honour to her. “Your Grace, I’ve brought many gifts for you from the Vale.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Baelish,” Sansa said. Petyr moved on to Lysa and Edmure, and their little daughter. Sansa watched him, and wondered how he’d managed to charm so many people. It was something she often wondered. She had spent so much time with him, she could see right through him. She could see the purpose of every gesture of kindness, of every alliance, of every invitation. And yet she too had fallen prey to him, and she too often saw more to the man than was there. Saw a loyalty to her that was pure, even when he’d been pushing her into the king’s bed so he could profit. She wished he wasn’t here, so she didn’t have to think about her messy feelings for the man. He had become her father long enough for her to believe it, and he’d tried his best to raise Sansa and mold her into his creature. She still worried she was too much like him, just as Jon had those first weeks, before he’d taken her to wife. 

 

Jon had complete faith in her now, she was sure. He believed her to be carrying his child, he had named her Queen, he had fallen helplessly in love with her. But Sansa doubted herself more than she ever had. Was she in love with Jon? Was she loyal to him? Could she be corrupted? She wasn’t sure. It was still the North the craved more than anything. Home. Family. Winterfell. 

 

If Edmure had known who Petyr Baelish truly was, he wouldn’t have accepted him so warmly into his home.  _ Or maybe he would, _ Sansa thought. The Riverlands were desperate and Petyr had grain and gold. Perhaps the needs of Edmure’s people would outweigh the loyalty he had for his sister. Sansa herself didn’t like to think of the day that Petyr had thrown her Aunt Lysa down the Moon Door, and she was not like to bring it up to her uncle. She still felt a little guilty, even if Lysa had wanted to kill her. 

 

Edmure had let Petyr and Sansa dine in her chambers. She had almost laughed at how easy it was for Lord Baelish to be granted a private audience with his queen. He merely had to ask for anything, and Edmure would bend over backwards to give it to him. Lord Baelish had brought her a new set of guards, so she wasn’t left with the handful Jon had been able to spare. “I need to keep you safe. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you,” Petyr said, stroking her cheek. 

 

Petyr wasn’t allowed to touch her like this. If Jon was here, he’d put an end to it. But the kingsgaurd had left them alone, and without anyone watching, Sansa wasn’t his queen, she was his plaything. She had rebelled in the Eyrie, she had promised herself that would be the end of it… but now that the moment had come, and Petyr had returned, it was hard to will herself to pull away. When she did, she did so as delicately as she could. She turned away from him, not wanting to look at him any longer, and walked towards the open window in the room. She breathed in fresh air. 

 

To her disgust, Petyr followed her there. “Sansa, you should come back to the Eyrie with me and wait out the rest of the winter. At least until they deal with the dragons and sort out what’s happening.” His voice was pleading, and Sansa knew that at least part of him had his best interest at heart.

 

“I’m your queen now, Lord Baelish. I have the king to take care of me, you needn’t worry after me.”  _ I’m the only queen that remains.  _ “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

 

“You know what I wanted…”

 

It was only a few moons ago that Petyr had plotted so that she could be the King’s mistress. She hadn’t forgotten how she and an unborn child were meant to be Petyr’s pawns. But there was no child, even if there were whispers of a pregnancy at court. 

 

“How is Sweet Robin? Is he still in the Vale?” Sansa asked, thinking of the boy she’d become a mother to after the past years. Neither of them had anyone else back then, and taking care of her cousin had kept her sane, even when her cousin was nothing short of insane.

 

“He’s been sick more often than not recently. He longs for you. He pines for his beloved Alayne.”

 

Sansa had been so caught up in her own life she had barely spared the little boy a second thought. She had been consumed with the joys of marriage and testing her charms on a king. But now that she was alone, everything felt melancholy. “I will send for him once the dragons are tamed. He would enjoy Winterfell.”

 

Petyr looked doubtful at that, but whether it was his hatred of her father’s seat, or Jon taming the dragons, or even that Sansa would ever get access to her cousin, she could not say. 

 


	17. Jon

Jon did not expect to be headed back to King’s Landing so soon. It seemed as though he had spent months in perpetual transit, and he was going the wrong way.  _ I should have taken Sansa North the moment I set eyes on her, _ Jon thought. They would be safe in Winterfell. The dragons didn’t like the North. They could rebuild in peace, and Daenerys could have gone on in King’s Landing. If only she hadn't taken her dragons to Dorne.

 

Jon had not loved Daenerys, and she had caused him nothing but grief, but despite the hatred he held for her, there had been a little bit of love there too. After all, she was the last surviving member of his father's family. She was his kin. He could not help but mourn her a little bit  now, even if she had deserved her fate. Only a few short weeks ago, Jon had thought that Daenerys would accept Sansa into their lives with open arms. He had respected his first wife, more or less. He had not seen the extent of her madness, or her cruelty, or her lust for power. How had he been so blind?

 

In truth, before he had gone to the Vale, Jon had been in a long depression. The Long Night was over. He had spent his entire adult life dedicated to it, and once dawn had broken, there had been nothing for him to live for. He was a warrior, a man meant to fight, to protect the realms of men. Everything had been empty in comparison. Of course, it would be necessary to assist rebuilding the continent as best he could. But his heart hadn’t been in it.

 

Jon would have raced back to King’s Landing alone if he could, but Davos and Sam had insisted on accompanying him, and his Kingsgaurd had not accepted it either. The freedom of the Night’s Watch was another thing he missed. Now that he was a king there was no end of people telling him what to do. So instead of a lone rider racing towards the capitol, a dozen horses cantered down the Kingsroad. Even Sam had insisted on coming to court, though he would have preferred to leave him with Sansa due to his lack of athleticism. Sam was now at the back of the pack of horses, panting along. Beside him, Davos had his brow furrowed, clearly lost in thought. Neither of them had given him their true thoughts on anything since he was told of Daenerys’ death. No, instead they treaded lightly, afraid to offend him. After the first day on horseback, it had become apparent that they had told Tormund to shut up too.

 

Jon was fine with the silence. 

 

But when they came to the ruins of an Inn they’d stayed at on their journey to Riverrun, the silence of his men at arms was too much. 

 

A village that had held a hundred people was reduced to nothing but ash. There was not a single survivor. No structure had been spared. The men stood there on their horses, staring for what seemed like an eternity. 

 

Finally, Jon exhaled loudly and shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do for them, we must go on,” he said. 

 

He did not say that there was no way they could protect themselves or anyone else from the dragons’ wrath, but he didn’t need to say it. They knew. 

 

When they made camp that night, Sam finally approached him. Jon sat in front of the campfire, looking into the flames and eating bread and cheese. He want tentative at first, but finally he spoke, “so, the dragons… is it revenge they want? Or do they just not know what to do now that... she's dead?”

 

“How would I know, Sam.”

 

“I figured you would be the one who knew the most.”

 

“And why would you think that?”

 

Sam looked at him as though he was stupid. “Well, because you’re a Targaryen, of course.”

 

“It doesn’t come with any instructions.” He took a bite of hard bread and sighed. 

 

“But you do have a plan, don’t you?”

 

“Sam, I could really use some quiet time. To think.”

 

As though the Old Gods had heard his prayers and decided to damn him, Tormund came up behind the pair of them. “I don’t like those dragons,” he said. He sat down between Sam and Jon, and began to pick the crumbs out of his beard. “Ale?” Tormund offered.

 

Jon nodded, and eagerly grabbed Tormund’s drinking horn and guzzled down most of it’s contents. “I’ve truly fucked everything up,” Jon said. 

 

“You’re not the one who decided to bring dragons back into the world,” Sam said, comforting his friend.

 

“You were thinking with your pecker,” Tormund said, and laughed long and hard. 

 

“He was thinking with his  _ heart _ ,” Sam corrected, giving Tormund a look. “You always think with your heart, Jon.”

 

“So my two best friends think I’m an idiot.”

 

“Not an idiot,” Sam said.

 

At the same time, Tormund said, “yes.”

 

Jon took another gulp of ale. 

 

“I didn’t realize you could drink, little crow. You can keep my horn. I didn’t give you a wedding gift.”

 

“Neither did I,” Sam realized, and gulped. “No, we haven’t had enough time to celebrate your wedding, have we?”

 

“I had a pretty good time on the boat,” Jon admitted, smiling as he remembered getting lost at sea with Sansa in his cabin. 

 

“I heard your good time started in the godswood,” Tormund said, raising one of his furry ginger eyebrows.

 

“That’s between me, Sansa and the Old Gods,” Jon said, clearing his throat. He wasn’t sure Sansa would want him to discuss their intimate moments.

 

“And Ser Gerold Dayne,” Sam said.

 

A moment of silence passed between the three of them, but then Tormund threw his head back and laughed, and Sam joined in, and Jon couldn’t help but smile. He’d been so happy that morning, and his mind couldn’t help but wander. He wished Sansa was here to drink ale with them around the campfire. She’d prefer to be at an inn, he was sure, if not a holdfast or castle… still, he’d like to have her in his lap, leaning back into his neck and nuzzling into him. Sometimes his bride surprised him, though. Maybe she’d like to be here with him, and they could make love on the earth in front of gods and men under the canopy of stars. 

 

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Tormund asked.

 

Jon nodded, grinning like the fool he was.

 

One of Jon’s guards brought them more ale, and they pounded it back. 

 

“Have I told you about my first time?” Sam asked. 

 

“With Craster’s wife?” Tormund asked, intrigued. “Was it under his roof?”

 

Jon was less eager to hear about it again. The phrase ‘fat pink mast’ has been used the first time, and that was all Jon needed to know about Sam’s manhood. He could be happy for Sam without knowing the details. Jon fell into a daze until Tormund shook him back to the present. “What?” it came out more aggressively than he would’ve liked, so he softened it with a half-smile.

 

“What are you going to do with the Dragon Queen’s body?”

 

“Oh. I’m not really sure what they do with Targaryen bodies when they’re dead,” Jon said. He hadn’t really thought of his first wife as a lifeless corpse. In life, Daenerys had been such an annoyance. He’d had to constantly think of how to manage her feelings and perceptions. He’d had to marry her when all he wanted to do was go home to Winterfell. And then, when he’d finally thought he understood her, she hadn’t let him be happy. It had been nice not to have to think of her and her unrealistic expectations and fertility issues now that she was dead. 

 

“They burn them, and inter their ashes in the Sept of Baelor,” Sam said.

 

“Well, that’s long gone,” Jon said, sighing. He looked into the campfire, his mind numb.

 

“We could give her body to Drogon. Maybe it would be enough to get him to leave,” Tormund suggested. 

 

It actually wasn't a half bad idea. “I wonder if Drogon even knows she’s gone.”

 

“Do you think Drogon would eat her?” Tormund asked, eyeing him curiously.

 

“No? Seven hells!”

 

“I’ve seen him eat many men on the battlefield,” Sam pointed out.

 

“Daenerys is their… mother.”

 

“No, she’s really not,” Sam said with a sigh. “I don’t understand why she said this either. It puts a horrible image in my mind of her somehow birthing those dragon eggs.”

 

“Didn’t she birth them?” Tormund asked.

 

“That’s not possible.”

 

“Well, she called them her children and that was enough for me!” Jon said, annoyed. “Let’s go to bed. We can deal with it in the morning.”

 

That night, he tossed and turned. His mind stayed on the dragons.Though he’d like to share his sleeping furs with his wife, instead he snuggled up in between Tormund and Sam to keep warm. Jon had gotten used to sharing a bed with Sansa, who frequently washed and used scented oils in her hair. Despite Tormund's efforts, his hair was still full of crumbs and he smelled of sweat. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just remade a tumblr for jonsa-ing, follow me at bravegentlestrong.tumblr.com!


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